Status: Single
City: Bay Area
State: CALIFORNIA
Country: US
Signup Date: 8/30/2004
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Thursday, September 03, 2009
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Corsica, I miss you.
There is just no other way to say it. I'd have thought by now I would have adjusted back to my "normal" life, and been thankful and proud of the memories I have. And I am. But with with those memories, comes an incredible void; one that I often don't know what to do with. One that challenges me in it's silence. One that leaves me wondering what exactly I'm doing here, and if I really have an affect on anyone. And, probably the scariest thought of all: "What if that was the happiest I will ever be?"
Don't get me wrong- there were moments of complete emotional exhaustion and sadness. But even in their imperfection, I was happy. Happy because I was feeling. Happy because I wasn't on pause; and even as the tears rolled down my cheek when I decided to leave my host family, I was still doing what was right for me. Thousands of miles from home, blocked by a language barrier and a jealous wife and daughter, I knew I had to leave. And I did.
It wasn't easy. It wasn't easy going with Guy (the father of the family) to our second I Muvrini concert- knowing in less than a day, I'd be on train, traveling four hours south to my new destination- alone. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to spend an entire week with this family. I was looking forward to it. Sure, I was nervous. My French was horrible, and they spoke little English. On what terms is that an easy transition? But- we had music- the same music that brought us together 10 months prior; music that created a beautiful friendship, an acceptance, a curiousity. For almost a year, Guy and I e-mailed back and forth, learning about our lives, our families, our work. I felt so blessed. Blessed to be accepted into his family; to recieve photos and updates of his wife and children; their get-togethers and special occasions, etc. Blessed to know someone else who felt the same about I Muvrini- a Corsican band that made their way into my heart years ago. Blessed to be exposed to the French language, and learn it slowly through comparing text in our e-mails. Imagine how I felt on my birthday, when I recieved a hand-written card from Normany, France (where they're from) complete with French and Corsican text, and dried flowers from their garden. What a gift.
I never thought it would end the way it did. But the tension was palpable- the more Guy talked to me, the more upset his wife and daughter became. By the third day he was barely talking to me, and his wife and daughter (who's my age) made no effort at all. Sure, they would answer my questions. But that's where it stopped. It was brief, emotionless, and awkward. At first, I blamed myself. I felt horrible for my lack of French; I felt like I slowed them down and they were frustrated, which is why they made no effort. But I still tried. I asked them daily how they were doing, if they slept well, if they needed help with something. I carried my dictionary around religiously and used it every other sentence. I asked their daughter for her opinion on my outfits, trying- at least- to connect with her on a "female" level. And even if my words weren't there...my will was. I was hoping they would at least notice that.
But it didn't matter. It never got easier, and it never got less awkward. One day we drove 3 hours south, to a beautiful place called Bonifacio, and nobody spoke a word to me in the car. Not one word. I cried under my sunglasses. Later that night, at the first I Muvrini concert, the mother and daughter sat in front of Guy and I, instead of next to us. I wondered why. And I was so happy that night, too. Blissfully happy. I met Shelly, the band's manager, for the first time in person, after a year of emailing. She was vibrant, and sweet, and was the first person I didn't feel judged by. Sure, it helped that she spoke English and was born in the States, and introduced me to everyone around her as her "American friend." But I loved it. People were curious about me, and wanted to know why I was there. Finally- people who actually wanted to talk to me! I told them I loved their country, and I loved I Muvrini. And I truly felt like they appreciated that. One fan even said, "Are you Sandy Stec?" He had seen a youtube clip of an interview I'd done with Jean-Francois, the lead singer, from a year prior. Can you believe that?
That was also the first night I met Claudine, another fan who had opened her heart to me 5 months prior, via email. She too spoke no English, but like Guy, we connected based on the music, and our friendship grew from that. I'll never forget the first time I hugged her- it was like connecting with a long lost friend. No judgement, no akwardness- just pure happiness and a desire to communicate. I went to four concerts, and Claudine saved me a front row seat, at every show. What an incredible person.
Prior to the concert, Shelly took Guy and I backstage to say hello to Jean Francois. I had no idea if he would remember me, since it'd been almost a year. I hoped he would, as he's someone I admire and look up to. He is beautiful. An artist, author, and philanthropist; he has a powerful dedication to his work, and remains true to his message throughout everything he creates. I am, and always will be, inspired by his connection to the public. It is what I want for myself. Perhaps that's why I feel so strongly about their music- because I know the way it makes people feel, and I wish someday to also have that power- to connect, to heal, and to inspire.
He saw me and immediatly, his eyes softened. I hugged him, and I knew he remembered. I looked at Shelly and her beautiful daughter Stella, wearing the necklaces I bought them. I talked to Alain- Jean Francois's brother (and fellow lead singer), and was so happy my French had improved since I saw him last year, when I was too nervous to form a sentence. He remembered me, as did his girlfriend. Wow. I thought to myself, "How did I get here? How am I lucky enough to be here, right now?"
Jean Francois grabbed my arm, and pulled me closer to him. He was chatting with another gentleman, and introduced me. I mentioned the Carnegie Hall interview from the year prior.
"Sandy- I thought you forgot about me since then," he said.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "That's the funniest thing I ever heard." I said. We both laughed.
And that was all I needed. I suddenly didn't feel so bad anymore. Within minutes I was sitting next to Guy, singing the same songs that brought me to the island 6 years prior. We sang out hearts out. And we didn't even care. The wife and daughter looked back at us a couple times, and I just knew they weren't happy. And there was nothing I could do about it. I was in my element, and finally feeling like my authentic self. If they didn't like me now, they never would. The 20-minute silent car ride home proved it, and the next day, I decided to leave.
It was hard. I don't deal well when people don't like me. It hurts, especially when I know I put "good" energy out there. Guy and I drove to our second concert, which was symbolic in a way that we both knew this was "it." The next morning, I would take a four hour train to Ajaccio, and be gone. A definite change in plans that was never intended. It took us two hours to get to Porto Vecchio (the concert location) and I cried the entire way.
"I am sorry....I feel like I've disappointed you," I said.
He paused. "My wife is very disappointed weez you, and I am also, a little." He responded.
GOD that hurt. Because there was so much French I didn't understand that it was obvious that they were saying bad things about me. Probably when I was in the same room- I wouldn't have known.
"But why?" I asked. "Why are you disappointed? What did I do?"
"She says you don't help around zee house." He said.
This baffled me.
"But Guy, I asked. Every day, I asked, and she said no." I responded.
"She don't like that you don't make zee bed." He said.
Amazing. I stayed in the same room as the daughter, and she never made her bed. Not once. I thought it was a green light!
He then went on to ask if I had a good relationship with my parents, if I helped them at home, and said "it is probably different in your country." He mentioned when I asked his daughter about what outfit I should wear before the concert, she thought I was "an indecisive little girl who can't make decisions." Apparently, they were calling me his "copine" (girlfriend) as well.
I felt so picked apart. I couldn't stop crying. Softly, he cried too.
"I'm sorry, Sandy. It's all my fault." He said.
"No, no- it's not your fault. C'est le meilleur choix (it's the best choice)....ce n'est pas juste pour toi que ta famille est en colere, et n'est pas juste pour moi aussi." (it's not fair to you that your family is upset, and it's not fair to me, either.)
"Sandy, I tell you some-sing." He said. "Before you arrive, zhey do not want."He said. "Zhey do not like."
And there it was- the real reason they hated me so much. They never wanted me there in the first place. How was I supposed to win over people who already had their minds made? Especially women. When women don't like you, you're screwed.
We finally pulled into the parking lot, 4 hours before the concert. (Guy was working at a volunteer booth that night.) My eyes were puffy, and my head hurt so bad I couldn't see straight. But I knew, despite the mess that just happened, I was free. I would not have to feel this way, ever again. And within minutes, a local drove me downtown, another local (his friend, the owner of the restaurant "Chez Laurent") treated me to a steak and pate dinner; and another complete stranger gave me a ride back to the concert. On his moped. And I was wearing a skirt.
Finally- this was living! This was the simplicity and the humanity I missed! These were the moments- the basic emotional understanding between two human beings- that I had hoped to experience everyday. And from that moment on....I did. Whether it was the bus driver in Ajaccio who was kind and made me laugh, or the woman I bought my mosquito cream from, who sat behind me at the concert that night. I'll never forget sharing sweets with Cesar, a member of the band, and explaining to him what "a true pimp" is. Or seeing Lioc, also from the band, while shopping one morning. I'll never forget my friend Claude, a local I'd met via e-mail, and how she took me to the urgent care as soon as I broke my wrist. I can't thank her enough for hearing me out when my emotions were all over the place.
I still think about the woman who gave me her coral necklace, and the couple from England who were stranded when our train station was on strike. Or the elderly lady who walked 5 blocks with me, just to help me find an open flower shop on a day everything else was closed. I think of Shelly, and how lucky I was to meet her, and Jean Francois always asking me how my day was. I think of Claudine holding the Corsican flag, beaming with pride as we sang in unison. And believe it or not- I still think of Guy and his family. It makes me sad, but think of them, and hope they are well. I'll never forget the morning he took me to the train station. He was crying, and looked at me said, "Muvramica Sandra?" (meaning friend/family of I Muvrini) "Oui, toujours." I said. ("Yes, always.")
I miss you, Corsica. Your beauty, your compassion, and open arms that embraced me. I miss your water, your air, and your sun. I miss your buildings; cracked with character, your cobblestone streets and villages, and delicious treats I carried with me back home.
But what I miss most is possibility. The possibility that somewhere out there, there is a place where I belong. A place where I could face fear, and challenge, and still come out ahead. A place with new air, new eyes, new life- without compromise. A place where I could grow, and flourish, and become the person I know I was always meant to be.
One day, I will find that place.
http://www.youtube.com/wat..ch?v=nvg7xbFqrNk
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Thursday, July 30, 2009
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In a few hours, I will be half-way across the world, greeted by a family I've never met in person, speaking a language I'm barely familiar with. I have waited for this moment to happen for a long time. Now it's actually here, and I am scared shitless.
Truth be told, I don't even want to write this blog. A few months ago, yes- when it was whimsicle and fun and not as realistic- I thought daily about writing it then. But now I'm clammering with nerves, and as usual, have waited till the last minute. (It doesn't help that my fear of reader judgement has caused me to write the same paragraph at least five times.) But now, after anxiety attacks and bad dreams and emotional breakdowns, all I can do is let it go. After all, life is about putting yourself out there, and if I hadn't done that months ago, I wouldn't have a story to tell you now.
In 2002, I discovered a band called "I Muvrini." (ee-moov-ree-nee) Don't worry- I didn't know how to say it either. I was in Vegas with my good friend Wendy, and we were browsing the Virgin Recordstore, since the Cheesecake Factory had a 45 minute wait. (Mmmm. Cheesecake) As always, I headed straight for the "world" section, and bought a compilation CD entitled "Mondo Platinum." That turned out to be one of the greatest trips ever- I won $500 on a 50-cent Wheel of Fortune machine (remember, Wendy? In the Paris casino- the first machine we gambled on??) and discovered music that would soon change my life.
It's funny when you buy a CD intending on listening to the whole thing, but you instead become fixated on one song. That song for me was "Quantu Omu Po" (As Much As We Can) by I Muvrini. Sure, there were other great artists on that album- Zucchero of Italy, for example, or Emma Shapplin of France. But there was something about the harmony and purity of that song that intrigued me. And thus, the research began.
Over the next year, and several CD purchases later, I learned I Muvrini was a Corsican band fronted by two brothers: Jean Francois and Alain Bernardini. Up until that point, I had never heard of Corsica, nor knew where it was. Did you know, aside from being a small Mediterranean island west of Italy, it was also an ugly Chevrolet model from the late 80's? (thank you, dead-beat car salesmen ex boyfriend for that knowledge.)
They sang in their country's traditional language, Coriscan (similar to Italian) and also the island's first-language, French. I am a lover of language and was even more pleased (when translating the lyrics) to see just how much their message resignated with my own beliefs. They are passionate about nature, brotherhood, perserverance, compassion, and unity, despite political or religious boundries. Such simple values, yet so easily forgotten.
In 2003, I took my first trip outside of the United States to Montreal, Paris, and Corsica- in 9 days. (Not recommended!) I went with- you guessed it- deadbeat car salesman ex-boyfriend. Now, I could go on and on about all the things that were wrong with him, but to be fair, I didn't even know who I was back then. I didn't know my values, I wasn't confident, and I was scared to speak my mind. Thus, I sacraficed my own happiness to please him and to "try to make it work." It wasn't even his fault. We fought constantly, and he'd say, "Sandy, if you're not happy, leave. Let me go, please." But I was too scared. Scared of his reaction, scared of my family's reaction (they loved him) and just wasn't secure enough in myself to know I deserved better. What I did know about myself was that I was curious about the world. He had an adventurous spirit, and was multi-lingual, so in that matter, we clicked. And oh- he absolutely loved I Muvrini.
We were only in Corsica four days, and fought the whole time. Don't get me wrong, when the plane landed, I was in heaven. I couldn't believe I was actually there. I couldn't believe one song from one CD could inspire a Mediterranean vacation, years later. The second night there, we went to their concert. It was everything I hoped it would be. Sure, everybody was speaking French. (including my ex, who was fluent.) And sure, once the concert was over, I felt empty again. But for those few moments, singing in unison with complete strangers under the stars.....I was happy. I didn't need to know or understand what was being said. In my heart, I was happy.
It is now 6 years later, and in less than a week, I will be back in Corsica. Only this time, when I am singing in unison under the stars, I will know the people next to me. They are family- though we have never met in person, though there is a language barrier- we share a common understanding. And sometimes, that is all you need. Though, I would have never met them had I not put myself out there a few months ago.
I found out I Muvrini was coming to Carnegie Hall in New York in November of last year. I was so proud of them. To this date, I've only met one person in the United States that knows of them (she's a good friend of theirs) but aside from that, nobody else seems to understand. So, I decided to reach out. I knew I was going to to the concert, but I wanted them to know, somehow, how much of a difference they've made in my life.
So, I made them a video. Yes, a youtube video. (I can feel you judging me right now.) I didn't know how it was going to turn out, and I didn't know if they'd ever see it. But my heart felt compelled to do it. And I worked hard on it. I learned French for it. (Thanks Andria!) I hired a graphic artist. (Thanks Anita!) I hired my best friend to help me edit it. (Thanks BFF, Sujoy.) I wanted it to be professional, and honest. As a performer who's used to being in sarcastic/joke mode 24/7, switching over to "pour your heart out and tell the truth" mode was quite daunting. But, it was the most rewarding thing I've ever done.
I sent my video to a woman named Shelly, who answered an email I sent her months before. Much to my surprise, she emailed me back the next day. All the way from Corsica! She had watched the video, and was touched. And- what an incredible coincidence- not only was she born in the United States, but also grew up in San Francisco. Wow! She told me she'd make sure Jean Francois and Alain saw the video.
A few emails later, Shelly asked me if I could take pictures of the band for their website. I was so nervous. I'm not a photographer! But, naturally, I said yes as I wanted to help them out in any way I could. She put me in contact with their tour manager, who also granted me an interview with Jean Francois, the lead singer.(who speaks fluent English).
Keep in mind, the entire time, I am shitting my pants. But mentally, as so I wouldn't lose my professional vibe.
The concert itself was incredible. 95% of the audience was French-speaking, which made me laugh because I was initially so excited to meet other American fans. Either way, I still sang in unison with them, just as I did 6 years ago. After the show, I walked into a tiny room, braced with my audio recorder and my faux-nervous professionalism.
I held out my hand. "Hi- I'm Sandy." I told Jean Francois. He reached for my hand. "Sandy- I saw your video on zee internet. It was so nice!"
HOLY SHIT. I had no idea. "You did?" I asked. "Yes" he said, reassuringly. "It was so sweet. Thank you."
Wow. I couldn't believe it. I was so scared to reach out....and now, I was sitting in a room, interviewing one of the most incredible people on the planet. If you've ever had a "How in the hell did I get here??" moment, that was mine.
After the interview, he invited me to have dinner with the band and friends. At this point, I had no idea if he felt sorry for me, or just wanted to be nice. I was just too nervous to really know. Everyone around me was speaking French, and I wanted to communicate so badly, but couldn't. So, I felt like I was bothering them. I felt out of place. Yet, something inside me said "shut up and go."
(Jean-Francois Bernardini- lead singer of I Muvrini, and I. I look pudgy but I'm blaming it on the angle.)
So, I sucked it up. And on a chilly Saturday night in Manhattan, I had dinner with my favorite band in an Italian restaurant, with 25 other French people I'd never met. It was the most surreal experience of my life. Around the same time, I'd recieved an email from a guy named Guy. (pronounced "Gee") It read, "Quelques photos de nos vacances en Corse, l'île de beauté" which translated to "some photos of our vacation in Corsica- the island of beauty."
My intitial thought was "Am I on a French spam list??"
Hesitantly, I looked at the photos. They were sweet. Very pleasant pictures of a husband, wife, and their daughter, vacationing in Corsica two years prior. Still, I had no idea who this man was, and why he was sending these pictures to me. I wrote him back and asked how he got my email. Much to my surprise, he told he had seen my video on the I Muvrini's English website. Whoah!
We continued email communication for months. I was so excited to finally meet another fan! Sure, we needed Google Translator to write back and forth. And sure, not all my jokes translated in French. (His family is from Normandy, France.) But to know a complete stranger opened their heart to me, and reached out, was such an incredible gift. I have a very small family (less than 10 people) and recieving pictures of their get-togethers, birthdays, even the birth of a newborn- it just brought such a smile to my face.
In a couple days, my plane will land once again, in Corsica. And I will have people waiting there for me. What a trip. And to think- at the beginning of this year, I really wanted an immersion vacation, but wasn't sure where or how it would come about. Little did I know!
In addition to staying with them for a week, I will also be meeting people from the island who've seen my video, a couple from Brittany who are huge I Muvrini fans vacationing, and Shelly- the woman who responded to my initial email, who made this all possible. And of course, I will see I Muvrini again. This is the greatest adventure of my life.
The only question I have now is, "What the **** am I going to do without Google Translator?"
Au Revoir,
Sandy
P.S. For more information about I Muvrini, click Muvrini.com and TerraCorsa.infoP.P.S. I'm really sorry this blog was annoying long, and the Myspace layout for it sucks so bad.
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Tuesday, May 05, 2009
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Today, I got a call from a listener.
"Sandy, I want to comment on something you said on-air a couple hours ago. You were talking about Miss California, and how she's opposed to gay marriage."
"Okay....." I said.
"Well, I just want you to know that it was very obvious when you were talking that you didn't share the same opinion as her."
"You mean it was obvious that I was for gay marriage?"
"Yes." She said. "You just sounded very biased. And I want to make sure you know there are other listeners out there who agree with her who you might be alienating."
There were so many things I was feeling in that moment.
I immediatly flashed back to 2 years ago, when I made a comment on-air about John Mayer, and how he supposedly made out with celebrity blogger Perez Hilton. I can't remember exactly what I said, but I know I mentioned something about how it grossed me out, and I was "amazed that women can date guys that are bisexual. I mean, kudos to you ladies, but it's just not for me."
I thought it was a silly little comment. 3 weeks of hate-mail later, I realized it wasn't. It completely threw me for a loop.
And this is the risk you run of being a "public figure." No matter what you say, or your intentions behind it, someone will be offended. And they will tell their friends. And their friends will write to online forums, and tell the whole group to write to the Mix DJ and tell her what an asshole she is. (True story. Some girl told a queer online chat forum that I was laughing and snickering while calling bisexuals "digusting." She told them to write to me to put me in my place.) And BOY did they.
I got the "ALL-CAPS" emails. E-mails with links to the word "bigot". E-mails saying they were boycotting our station because of me. I felt awful. I was scared to turn on the computer. Scared to go to my gigs. Scared to speak, at that point.
I tried writing back to every one of them, apologizing. Taking responsibility. Letting them know it was just my personal preference to date a man who is straight as opposed to bisexual. It didn't matter. They had a point to prove, and they weren't accepting my apology. Until one email came in, and really put things into perspective. He said,
"Sandy, I'm not mad at you, I'm just dissapointed. It took me a long time to get to where I am today, and it just felt like you were shitting all over everything I worked so hard to get over ."
Wow. Well-said. I totally got it.
And the funny, circle-of-life aspect to this whole thing was that I probably did sound judgemental on-air. I always thought of John Mayer of a typical "straight" dude. Just like my ex. Who I thought was straight. And faithful. (Pet Shop Boys Cds...poetry...man bags...severe alcoholism...I should've known...)
Anyway, the point being that hearing that bit of news brought up some uncomfortable memories for me, which in turn brought back painful memories for listeners. I reacted based on my history, they reacted based on theirs. Hakuna matata. John Mayer is bi-curious.
Fast forward to today. I realized, even though I wasn't forwardly saying "I believe in equal rights and support gay marriage!!!" it was still in my tone. It was between the lines. And somewhere, subconsciously and 2 years later, I was still apologizing to all those people I offended on that day.
"I don't agree with Miss California's viewpoints, but I do think it's ridiculous she's not allowed to express her opinion" I told the lady.
"Well, maybe you should mention that on-air, so that would balance it out." She mentioned.
Why? So I could make everyone happy? It's impossible. I appreciated her call, and thanked her, but I left it at that. I'd much rather go through a 2-year learning lesson that spend one day being vanilla to please the masses.
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Monday, December 29, 2008
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A couple years ago, I visited a "natural healing center" that tested me for food allergies. According to them, my body does not like cow-dairy, wheat/gluten, or basically anything I like. I was told for 6 weeks to have no sugar (including fruits), no carbs, no caffeine, and no alchohol. I only made it to 3 weeks. It felt like my soul died.
Did I lose weight? Yes- about 10 pounds. My stomach was never bloated, I never had gas, and my skin looked great. But I was SAD AS HELL. I honestly felt like part of me died. The youthful, fun, getting-excited-about-silly-things-like-frosting part. Call me crazy, but that's who I am. I love sweets. I will never not love them. I grew up on them (damn my parents!) and most of my close friends understand the healing powers of a Sprinkles cupcake. I'm not even religious, but I'm pretty sure I was baptized in buttercream.
2009 is coming up. I have big goals on the horizon. TV, international travel, and basically, "coming into my own." I'm ready for the next step, in all areas of my life. Yet, after seeing myself on "Retro Night" a couple weeks ago, and eating horrendously for the last month, I know I have to work harder. I have to really get serious about this "healthy eating" shit. And I am NOT looking forward to it.
My friend Jeremy told me the Suzanne Somers book "Eat Great, Lose Weight" helped her lose a crapload of weight. So I bought it. The jist of it? No white flour or sugar, and when you eat, combine certain foods. Carbs are allowed, but only if they're whole-weat/grain, etc; and when eating w/o fat. Here are the 7 steps:
1: Elimate all "funky" foods, i.e. white flour, sugar, brown sugar, honey, etc.
2. Eat fruits alone, and on an empty stomach
3. Eat proteins/fats with Veggies
4. Eat carbos with Veggies and no fats.
5. Keep proteins/fats separate from Carbos.
6. Wait 3 hours between meals if switching from proteins/fats to carbs, or vise-versa.
7. Do not skip meals.
Out of the 7....."do not skip meals" is the only one I know I could do, for sure. The recipes sound delicious- but I don't cook. I don't even want to learn. Yet, I agree with most of what she's saying. Whole grain, more veggies, trying to elimate the white flour/sugar, etc. I know I will lose weight. But will I be happy? Will this affect my relationship with my parents? Will I ever be able to have meals at home again? Am I going to be the "Debbie Downer" at every social outing?
More importantly- if I do lose the weight..... am I really going to admit to people that I "somersized?"
I'm hungry.
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Monday, December 08, 2008
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Correction- I AM cut-out for TV, it's my dream and destiny, and it will happen.
What I am NOT cut-out for.... is criticism. I am too damn sensitive.
For years, I have dreamt about being on tv. And for years, the one thing that's always echoed in my mind is "You'll be great, once you lose weight....." As if everything else in my life is completely ready, but my fat ass is the only thing holding me back.
I know I'm not "big." But I aint little. I know I'm meant to be smaller. I know I have a good figure, and thank god, a decent face. I fear sometimes if it weren't for my jawline, the whole world would "know." They'd know just how big I really am.
Good God, I'm a neurotic mess. I haven't worked out in two weeks, I've eaten horrendously, and last night, I saw myself hosting "Retro Night" on TV20. Was the segment entertaining? Absolutely. Did my co-host and I have great on-camera chemistry? Totally. I'm proud of my performance and the show overall. My co-worker even said, "You didn't skip a beat." But I won't lie: it wasn't easy to watch. I just felt like I was this chubby, clunky white-girl who would be sooooo close to perfect if she only lost weight.
Yeah, that's narcissistic. But it's honest, too.
I don't know why I'm so hard on myself. I guess it's because I feel like whatever I see, so does everyone else. If I'm dissapointing myself, I'm sure everyone else is dissapointed. All the pressure I put on myself, and more.
I got this e-mail after the show last night:
"Saw you on retro night as a blonde.....nice! You got to get that blonde thing going again though....makes you look so much more intelligent!"
And, this call from a listener just moments ago:
"Sandy- I saw you hosting Retro Night last night! Good job! What's up with your blonde hair? You look like you're 17!"
I said, "What the hell? You mean I look young?"
He goes, "No- I meant that as a compliment!"
Sure, buddy. And when a woman says "No, he's really nice" that means we totally want to f*** you.
Ugh. This is so not a big deal, and I'm totally bummed about it. Sometimes I wish I could put a disclaimer under myself when I'm on-camera, just to let the viewer know "I know." I know my hair is shitty today. I know my outfit is weird. I know I'm "curvy." (I HATE that word, btw.) I just put so much pressure on myself, that when I receive feedback like that, it's like another annoying reminder that I've still got to "try harder."
It's the epitome of every single one of our fears: that who we are... is just not enough.
Maybe I just need a little more vodka in my eggnog.
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Friday, December 05, 2008
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It's the smallest section in a records store, and it's the section I visit most: the world music section.
For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated and drawn to language. When I was in 4th grade, my friend Bonnie gave me a Celine Dion CD- in French. It totally annoyed me.
"French? Why'd you get me a French CD?" I asked.
"I don't know. I just saw it and thought it would be cool!" She said, giggling.
That annoyed me even more. How could she get me something I couldn't even use?
For weeks, it just sat there. I didn't want to throw it out, but I sure as hell didn't want to listen to it. Until one day...I did. I don't even know why. I'm pretty sure it was due to sheer boredom and lack of options. I mean, you can only make Ken and Barbie have sex on your front porch for so long. (Sorry, Mom.)
I had no idea, prior to listening, how captivated I'd be. (And that's not just the post-Barbie coitus talking.) I was really, genuinely fascinated. The words became a puzzle for my mind...I liked listening to the different sounds and seeing how they compared to the written text. I liked wondering what they meant, and trying to piece together sentences based on the similar-to-English words I had already seen. So there I sat, in the corner of my room, next to my gigantic, shitty RCA stereo, memorizing as much French as I could. I remember vaguely switching from that cd to the casette single of AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" and Ugly Kid Joe's "I Hate Everything About You." (Not much has changed)
In high school, a French boy named "Nicholas" (Neek-Oh-Ligh) studied with us during senior year. He was from Quebec. Not only was I facsinated he spoke French, but he was gorgeous, so of course I wanted to hit that shit. But all I could do when talking to him was ask for lyric translations.
"So what does "Cherche Encore" mean?" I asked.
"Cherche Encore? It means "Keep Searching. Why do you ask?"
"Um, I don't know. I just love this song but have no clue what I'm actually saying." I blurted out.
That was the end of our union. He wound up dating Sabrina H.; a beautiful, exotic classmate of mine that was just as talented as she was pretty. I eventually got over it, but always wondered, deep down, if he knew how worldly I was, despite my Caucasian exterior.
My fascination for language only continued to grow. I took 5 years of Spanish, attended Peace-Corps meetings, and eventually planned to relocate to South America. But I was caught in between a love for two things: performing and entertaining, or complete cultural immersion. What should I do? Make a difference to those less fortunate in third world countries....or push buttons?
Looks like Nickelback won.
But that didn't stop me from singing "Bakit labis kitang mahal" with my Filipino friends during karaoke, or writing for "Nirvana Woman" Magazine about my love for all things bhangra. Nor did it keep me from taking belly-dancing lessons and buying every single Natasha Atlas CD available.
Most recently, I reached out (via youtube) to a Corsican band that is very near and dear to my heart, I Muvrini. Their passion for humanity and justice (and beauty, overall) resonate so strongly in my core that I had to put myself out there. (This was their first U.S. appearance in 7 years) Imagine how elated I was when I met the lead singer, and the first thing he told me was how beautiful my video was, and how much it meant to him.
This is who I am. It's not so much a language fascination but a connection that I crave. I crave to connect, every day. Whether I'm on-air telling stories, or on-stage, telling jokes. I just want to connect. I just want to know that something I'm saying is making somebody feel comforted, in some way. I want to make a difference. I want to have an effect. No matter what language, I want to strive to prove there is always, and will always be, a link.
And if it takes me scanning the world music section of Virgin records on a Sunday afternoon to restore my faith in that vision…then so be it.
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Thursday, October 23, 2008
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First of all, I wouldn't call what I did on Sunday "running." It was mostly crying, and hobbling. After I barely made the "You'd-better-be-at-mile-19-by-noon-or-you'll-be-cut-off" mark, I called my mom. Yes- my mother.
"Mom- are you here?" I whimpered.
"Yeah- why?"
"Um, I don't think I'll be at the finish line by 12:45 like I told you….it's just (sniff) um, taking longer…" I said, disappointed. My eyes started welling up.
"That's fine, honey." She reassured.
As I watched the waves crashing along the Great Highway, and all the soon-to-be-finished participants running in the opposite direction, I lost it.
"Mom it hurts! Everything hurts! My legs hurt and my feet hurt and I don't…I don't know…I don't think I can do this!" I said, sobbing aloud. I wanted consoling. I wanted her to tell me it was going to be okay. Mostly, I wanted my legs, feet, and hips to stop feeling like they were being beaten by a steel 2x4. As usual, my Mom didn't get it.
"Sandra, it's loud out here! I'm right next to the speaker and I can't hear YOU! Can you please SPEAK UP?" She said, aggravated.
"Forget it!" I said, and slammed the phone shut. Tears rolled down my right cheek while two runners next to me pretended not to notice. 7 more miles to go.
I'm not going to lie- I had a really, really hard time at the marathon on Sunday. They say you hit your "wall" at mile 20. Mine hit at mile 11. That is when I seriously considered quitting. Well, technically I would have just downgraded to the ½ marathon, but for me, that felt like quitting. I trained for the full. I planned on doing the full. What would I tell my friends?
So, I pressed on. I walked a lot more than I would like to admit. The first 7 miles were fine. Mile 8 it started to get hilly and NEVER STOPPED. If it was scenic, I don't remember. I do remember seeing bison in Golden Gate Park and thinking, "What the hell are those things doing there???" It was just so random.
I felt like I ate a whole meal's worth of calories during the run. Gatorade. Luna bars. Luna chews. Granola mix. Cliff blocks. Bananas. Gu. Ugh! After a while I started to feel nauseas. Something about electrolyte imbalance…luckily, Coach Kris was there (with scooter in tow) and handed me a salt packet.
Yes, salt. Plain salt. Good for your body, but soooo not fun without fries.
At mile 12 I said goodbye to Heidi, who ran with Denise, her sister and I until the marathon and ½ marathon paths split. From that point on…I was on my own. With a runny nose, blistering feet, and horrible pains throughout both sides of my body.
Aside from being on antibiotics and wearing the wrong shoes, my athlete friend made a good point. He said, "Sandy- you can't choose your bad days." He mentioned how he trained for a marathon for months, and everything was fine. But the day the marathon arrived, he had the runs, and had to use the porta-potty every mile. For 26 MILES.
So, at least that didn't happen. Extra "relief" came at mile 21, when my awesome and amazing friend Erika came and cheered me on with her mom. Erika, if you're reading this- thank you. I can't tell you how much that meant to me for you to go all the way up to the city just to cheer me on. I needed the laughs and the break!
After running around the Lake that never ends- Lake Merced- I was on the final stretch: miles 24, 25, and 26. I had completely given up on running at that point. Thank goodness for Honoree Ellen, who walked with me for a good portion of it. Coach Tim joined in.
"Sandy- you do know you joined the South Bay RUN Team, right?" He asked.
"I know- I know. But it hurts, Tim!" I complained.
I looked back, and there it was. A cop car. The end of the race cop car. Sure, it was far off into the distance, but it was still there. I was being paced by the end of the race cop car.
As I crossed the 26 mile-marker, Coach Tim unlinked our arms and let me go. Ellen went to the right, Tim went back out on the course, and I went straight forward. 352 yards later, I finished.
It wasn't until the next morning, after the victory party, the ice-bath, the Ibuprofen, and the bandaged blisters that I realized: Holy crap….I was a part of something amazing.
And as crazy as it sounds, I'd do it all over again.
Thank you to all the Team in Trainers I met and befriended this season.. I hope to keep in touch with all of you, and hopefully run with you again soon.
Thank you to the Coaches- Tim, Kris, and Doug- for your hard work, expertise, and putting up with my sometimes sour attitude. Thank you Shaulinn for your sweetness, dedication, and inspiration. And Simone, you're goofy and crazy, and TNT wouldn't be the same without you. Also- thank you for letting me know my ass got smaller throughout training. I needed that.
Thank you to Annee and Nina from the Charles Schultz Museum, who drove from Santa Rosa to my house 2 months ago, and purchased ½ of my Snoopy belongings. Looks like my crazy youtube video idea turned out to be not-so-crazy after all! (btw, the items were purchased from me directly. I later used that money as a donation to the LLC)
Thank you to the guy in Florida, who has no idea when he bought my Giant Snoopy off EBAY that I later used that money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
And, last but certainly not least, thank you to ALL of my friends and family who donated to my fundraising goal:
Susan Alexander, Georgia Prado, Dave Preston, Sujoy Sarkar, Gabriel Rosas, Christopher Blake, Mom and Dad, Robert Anderson, Brian Johnson, Jillian Kay, Erika Johnson, Wes Hofmann, Mickey Joeseph, Lauri Beamish, Sam Arno, Leonard Ybarra, John Sanchez, Clive Hall, Marylou Acosta, Marie Alberto, Lisa Patterson, Susan Stec, H. Alan Scott, Crystal Martinez, Karen Smyth, Tim Bednarz, Barry Katzmann, Dhaya Lakshminarayanan, Pamela Ames, Brandon Higa, and Alan Espinoza.
You helped me make a difference. I love you. Now, it's time to take advantage of the cheap Rite-Aid sandals I bought specifically for my post-marathon healing, and am finally wearing now....
Love,
Sandy
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Wednesday, August 13, 2008
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Hello friends. :o)
I'll be launching a new website within the next few months and am overwhelmed, once again, with all the "tech" stuff I'll have to learn.That, and this'll cost me an arm and prosthetic leg. (?) Anyway, if you can give me advice/suggestions/referrals to any of my inquiries below, I'd be very grateful. Comment directly below or e-mail me at Sandy@SandyStec.com.
1) Mac or PC: I need to invest in a new lap-top. All I know for sure is that I will be uploading and editing videos every week. At this point I'm pretty sure I want a Macbook. I'm going to hold off until next month to see the new one coming out, and perhaps shave a few hundred off the latest model.
2) Hard-drive: Can you believe my current hard drive is only 40 gigs? How shitty is that? That being said, what do you think is a "safe" amount of space to have on my hard-drive, given the amount of media content I'll be working with? (I also have an external hard-drive with about 240 gigs left)
3) RAM: I don't know anything about RAM. I don't even know what it stands for. But isn't it supposed to help your computer run faster? I need to make sure I have the correct components to enable fast internet access and seamless media editing.
4) Video Editing: Once I do get my Macbook, I'm going to need to install something to edit videos. (I know they have their own, but eventually I want to make more advanced projects.) Suggestions?
5) Audio Editing: I currently have Adobe Audition, but I was told it wasn't compatible with Macs. What is a good replacement? I need something that's not *too* advanced. I'll prolly just be cutting and splicing songs, recording my voice, puttting effects on, etc.
6) New Camcorder: for "vlogging" puposes....probably needs a mic-jack as well.
7) WEBSITE DESIGNER! This is very important to me. I really want my new site to kick ass. I promise to be organized and have lay-outs ready.
And a couple things for a side project.....
8) Native French Speaker: I'm going to need to have about 2-4 minutes of heartfelt dialogue translated from English to French. (will pay.)
9) Computer Graphics: I need someone who can make 2 animated computer graphics that I can incorporate into a video I'm making. (will pay.)
Thank you SO much for your time. You are the wind beneath my wings.
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Monday, July 28, 2008
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Earlier this week, I noticed my co-worker knocking on the window of my studio door. I motioned for her to come in.
"Sandy- are you going to Music in the Park on Thursday?" She asked, smiling.
"Yeah- I'm hosting. Why?" I asked.
"Well I just wanted to give you a head's up that a certain someone's going to be there…." She said.
"A certain someone?" I asked.
I paused, and thought. Was it someone I know? Someone I should know?
"Yeah…remember last year?" She asked, taunted me. Suddenly it clicked.
"Oh…..HIM," I said. Allow me to explain.
"Him" is actually Oliver- a client of ours. A very, very gorgeous client that works for a Bay Area music marketing company. I'll never forget the day that same coworker- a beautiful, always-put-together saleswoman, toted him around the office and introduced him to everyone. You'd have thought George Clooney walked right in and made direct eye contact with every longing, hopeful female there.
Hell, it was hard not to make eye contact with him. His green eyes were bright, evoking, and fantastic. His smile was sweet and non-threatening. His hair…oh his hair. I'm a sucker for dudes with cute hair, and his light brown locks really did a number on me. To top it off, he was nicely dressed, and for a "clean-cut" guy he had a certain ruggedness that caused my knees to buckle. To this day, I don't think anyone more attractive has ever walked through the studio doors.
That summer, my company- along with numerous sponsors, music acts, and about 10,000 civilians- were celebrating "Metro's Music in the Park"– a 20 year tradition of free concerts in downtown San Jose. I was there; as was Oliver. Damn- he looked good.
I had just finished bringing the second band on-stage when he started walking towards me. OH. MY. GOD. Allow me to elaborate what goes on in the female mind when someone gorgeous walks our way:
"Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. How's my hair? Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap."
"Hey Sandy- how are you?" He asked. There was that smile again. SHIT.
"Good, good!" I said, nervously. My mind was racing.
What is he doing here?
Is he looking for someone?
How do I look?
Is my makeup okay?
Do I look fat?
He doesn't really want to talk to me….does he?
For the next 10 minutes, we stood next to each other behind the stage, resting our elbows on the steel table below. We started talking about the bands, his move from the Midwest to California, my stand-up comedy and online stalkers, and then it dawned on me:
"Holy shit- I'm talking to the hot guy."
Not just a hot guy. The hot guy. The one all the women wanted. The one who stood out from a crowd based on bang-ability alone. And I was talking to him!
"Hey- you want to get a drink or something? I have all these free coupons and I need to use them up." I asked.
"Sure!" he responded, enthusiastically.
OH. MY. GOD. We were going to hang out! Granted, in normal situations one would call this "networking" or "schmoozing." But for me…..it was a date. It was our first date. And I was even incorporating a coupon! My parents would be so proud.
So, we walked. We walked and talked, side by side. And all I could think was,
"Holy crap…..I've got the hottest guy in the place…."
I felt like I pimp. Like someone who wears a purple fur coat and calls them self "Sex Juice." Oh, to be a man-whore!
We walked past my co-workers. I could feel them judging. Wait- is Sandy hanging out with the hot guy? Out of all the women here- Sandy's got him?!? How'd she get that dude?
"Yep, that's right bitches. I've got him." I thought, defensively. "I'm funny, smart, talented, hard working, and yeah- I've got a hot guy next to me. Because I DESERVE A HOT GUY."
Sure, it was over the top. But that was my ego talking. And hell, he was the sexiest arm-candy I ever had. I at least wanted to enjoy it.
After standing in line for 10 minutes, Oliver and I walked away with beer, wine, and two slices of pesto pizza from Pizza-My-Heart. I knew I wouldn't be full after one slice- but I kept my mouth shut as not to spoil the fantasy. We plopped down on the grass nearby, and chilled out for 20 minutes. It was awesome. I completely forgot I was at "work." I don't even know if the conversation was that good, to tell you the truth. I just knew that it felt so redeeming to get attention from someone hot that I didn't care. Sadly, the night was coming to an end. More "chick" thoughts came into my head.
Will I ever see him again?
Does he like me?
Will he remember me tomorrow?
Do I look fat?
Before I went on-stage for the last official announcement, we exchanged cards. He told me he really wanted to come to my comedy show the next week. Ah….sealing the deal. SCORE.
He introduced me to his co-worker and mentioned they were heading over to a local bar and wanted to buy me a drink.
"Cool- I'll just meet you guys in a few minutes?" I asked, nervously.
"Alright cool. We'll wait for you there." he said, smiling.
I was giddy. I didn't plan on meeting anyone- let alone someone like this! I was about to pack up my stuff at the Mix booth when my co-worker approached me.
"Hey Sandy….I saw you talking to Oliver tonight," She said, grinning.
"I know! He's really nice and is going to come to one of my comedy shows!" I said with pride.
"Sandy- he's married." She said.
"What?"
"Yeah- he's married. His friend was talking to me and told me he was married. Him and his wife live together on the Peninsula." She instructed.
I felt like an idiot. Was he really just schmoozing me the whole time? Was I just that "radio girl" he wanted to get on his good side? What about his arm on my shoulder and the kiss on the cheek? Was I just imagining all that?
"But he wasn't wearing a ring!" I sad, crushed.
She stared at me. "Well, I just wanted to let you know cause I saw you were making plans, and I wanted you to be on the up and up." She said.
"No, no- thank you. I appreciate you telling me." I said, gathering my thoughts. "I'm going to go home. I can't see him again tonight- I'll be too pissed."
She understood, and I went home.
Fast forward to exactly a year later- July 24th, 2008. I was, once again, hosting the show at Music in the Park. I was about to go on-stage and announce the 2nd band, Dusty Rhodes and the River Band. As I was reading my notes, amidst a flurry of band members and tech crew frantically running around me, someone brushed up against me.
"Hey- how you doing?" A 30-something, somewhat attractive man asked me.
I had no idea who he was. More importantly I was curious on why he chose to stand within 2 inches of me. Confused, I blurted out,
"I'm good. Busy but good! How are you?"
"Can't complain, can't complain," He said, smiling. And there it was: the smile.
It was Oliver. One year later, and still no ring.
He was wearing jeans, a white long-sleeve dress shirt and plaid vest. A plaid vest! What kind of dude wears two of the worst fashion statements combined into ONE GARMENT? What was worse is that he still looked attractive! He was like a modern-day fuckable Peter Pan. How annoying.
Still, I felt uncomfortable talking to him. What was the point? He was lying, or at least living a lie, and I wasn't about to be his 20-something ego-boost for the 2nd time. I excused myself and immediately found my co-worker who initially introduced us.
"Oh my God- guess who I just talked to?" I asked her.
"Who? Oliver?" She asked.
"Yep!" I boasted. "Funny- he's still totally vague about his personal life."
"Did he give you the old stand-by? 'Can't complain, can't complain!'" She said, laughing.
We went into hysterics. At this point, it was comical.
"You know, Sandy- I've known him for 2 years and he has never once mentioned he's married, or has a wife." She added.
"I know dude- he did that with me too" I said. "He talked all about his move from the Midwest to California , as if he did it all by himself. Yet his website says he is 'married' and came here 'with his wife.'"
We were quiet, for a moment.
"So do you feel weird about it?" She asked.
"No, not at all." I said, smiling. "I just wish I could get my Pizza-My-Heart coupon back."
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Thursday, July 17, 2008
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A few years back, I was approached by a colleague at the Brainwash Café, a quintessential "open mic" in San Francisco, which also serves as a café/launder mat during the day. Stay with me.
"Sandy- have you done Harbin Hot Springs yet?" he asked.
"No- what's that?" I inquired.
"It's this cool resort by Calistoga. They don't pay much, but they put you up for the night and it's really pretty. You should contact the guy about it."
I looked around at my fellow neurotic hopefuls, tired waitstaff, and the man that soiled himself in the front row.
"What's his name?" I asked, excitedly.
"Earth-Man." He said.
And that was my introduction to Harbin Hot Springs.
It started out as a one-night gig, 5 years ago, where a fellow comic and I performed for 40 people who were shoeless, shirtless, and lacked any sense of reality. On top of the numerous pop-culture references that went down the drain, I had to get used to performing in bare feet while watching people fondle one another from the cushioned-floor below. It was definitely a first.
Oh- did mention I had to follow a didgeridoo?
Did I also mention the man following me, an aborigine-like character, sang a Himalayan chant, fully equipped with a sacred rattler? Only, since he apparently misplaced his original "rattler," he was instead using his sacred "pill box." To this day, I've never seen anyone use their Prozac bottle as a musical side-kick.
Oddly enough, that was not the most awkward part of the night. After the show, my comedian friend and I decided to take a dip in one of Harbin's 6 natural spring-water pools. Ranging from a chilling 50 degrees to a steaming 114 degrees, these pools are mineral-chalked and amazingly therapeutic. The scenery is superb - almost everywhere you look you're surrounded by mountains, trees, waterfalls, hiking trails, a star-filled sky, the hot, steaming sun, and….naked people.
Oh yeah. Did I mention Harbin Hot springs is clothing-optional?
I'm guessing you just had the same reaction I did years ago.
"Clothing optional? Oh HELL NO!"
I didn't think I could do it. And I didn't. In fact, my friend and I, out of the 200 or so people there, were the only ones wearing swimsuits that night. I remember walking from the warm-pool to the shower area feeling completely exposed.
"I hope nobody is looking at us." I thought. I wanted to cover up, but then I remembered- I was already was covered up. It was weird.
I'll never forget my reaction to the sight of the first naked man. He was 6'1, caveman-like, and about to join me in the hot spring.
"Oh my God….there's his wiener!" I thought squeamishly, while staring at his pelvis. I felt like a 6th grader trapped in a grown adult's body. I watched as his lean legs, bushy pubes, dark beard, and completely exposed wang plopped themselves right next to me. I was supposed to pretend I was completely un-phased. But I wasn't. I stared at him. Probably longer than I should have. And he noticed.
SHIT.
Still, that experience wasn't enough to turn me away. Nor was the woman reading The Karma Sutra on the lawn nearby, naked and spread-eagle. I could have never come back after the old lawyer from Walnut Creek tried to dry hump me in the Temple. I could have felt hopeless after hearing a couple one floor above me having passionate sex, while I read "Fearless Living." I could have been discouraged when I realized my favorite carefree hippy was actually a conspiracy theorist hiding from the government.
But still, I kept going back.
After being reminded of the strict no-alcohol policy on my first visit, I could have said, "Nope- this place aint for me." Instead, my friend and I did what any good Samaritans would have done: chugged the last of the wine before taking a dip in the hot pool. Sure, we almost drowned. But at least we got rid of the evidence.
To this day, I don't know what it is. The nakedness, the raw-vegan eating, the Church of Heart Consciousness, the complete separation from media & technology….it's nothing I would subscribe to on a daily basis, but once in a while, my soul kind of needs this stuff. I'm not even religious, but I remember the first time I stood naked with my fellow hippy brethren, a little voice in my head said,
"We are all God's children!"
I don't even know where that came from. Maybe it was just the sulfur talking. Or maybe I was onto something. Maybe I was wasting too much time chasing a dream that, in the end, wouldn't be that full filling. Maybe my sarcasm was just a front for my insecurities, and my comedy was the only way I could truly feel in control. Maybe this feeling- the calm, the quiet, the peace- maybe this was what it was all about.
4 days ago, I had a conversation that put it all into perspective.
I was minutes away from leaving Harbin, and struck up a conversation with a local silk-importer. He was showing me pictures of his 94 sq-foot "home" in Hawaii, which was, essentially, a shack. A shack decorated in Tibetan tapestry and Sanskrit murals, thus; making it his shack. The only visible furniture was a queen-sized mattress that took up ¾ of the whole house. Of course, my spoiled, materialistic self felt bad for him. I wondered how he could ever be content with so little.
"Don't you go stir-crazy?" I asked him.
"Oh no way!" He said. " Sometimes I take a backpack and go hiking on my own for a good week or so."
"Wow- that's amazing." I said, impressed. I really was. I admired his adventurous spirit and strong sense of self.
"I mean, it's just beautiful out there, with the mountains and clean air, and the ocean below. Plus it's really awesome when you're tripping on LSD!" He said, laughing.
And there it was- the Truth- staring me in the face, disguised as simplicity. I felt like a fool. Don't get me wrong- I laughed at his story; I humored him. (Technically, it's my job.) But at that point, I just didn't know what else to say.
Was it all a sham? Were all these people just lost and confused, and using the "present moment" to avoid acknowledging their past? Were they creating new identities to ignore responsibility? I mean, how many Self-Awareness courses can you take? Are you EVER going to be aware? Or, is the "now" just an excuse to avoid being productive? Is that how you justify not doing your taxes for 7 years and wearing a dirty sarong? Does it really make it all worth it to receive love from complete strangers when your family and friends miss you back home? Are you really happy....or are you just numb?
Maybe Pink Floyd had it right the whole time. Or maybe I should consider writing a new book called, "Self-Awareness and the Art of a Cop-Out."
With love,
Ishvara
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