close to home

I grew up around kids. My mom watched all ages: 3 months, 10 years. My brother, sister, and I learned how to change a diaper, make a bottle, keep an eye on and entertain. We helped, though not always happily. We often didn't have access to our bedrooms until so-and-so got up from his or her nap. So, we'd keep an ear out for crying. We came to understand what it stood for--whining, frustration, discomfort.

The cries I heard on this recording were different.

At this point, I expect you're well aware of the crisis taking place at the U.S.-Mexico border. You know that last month: 2,000+ children were taken from their parents, that every person to cross the border without legal documentation was prosecuted as a criminal, that AG Jeff Sessions tried to use the Bible to defend the zero-tolerance policy, and that President Trump signed an executive order to discontinue family separation, an act that was put in place with his blessing. Hopefully they'll make their deadline? And still, one can only imagine the pain and suffering that continues through trauma.

Decades after my grandfather ventured to Central California with the Bracero Program, my dad crossed that same border for that same economic opportunity. He stayed longer though. He sent money home, supported siblings as they, too, came over. Years later, once my dad had met my mom, after my siblings and I came to be, my dad became an American citizen.

It's no wonder this feels personal, and yet... nobody risks their own life, let alone that of their child, unless they have to; unless doing so feels like the only viable option for safety. If they make it, their family might come to know the opportunity that comes after. Maybe.

Who do we think we are to dehumanize fellow human beings by labeling them illegal? A descriptor of an action, by the way, not an existence. Do we not share the same value, the same entitlement to human rights? Dignity, let alone decency? This administration appears not to think so. How quickly we forget our origins.

I am the child of an immigrant. My father achieved "the American Dream." This has afforded me the privilege to move across borders and oceans without any apprehension a.k.a. the entire premise of this silly blog. The magnitude of these truths are enough to paralyze me with guilt sometimes. I'm trying my best to do more. I hope you are, too.

P.S. For some levity whilst giving a damn.

about charlottesville

I remember how it felt, at the age of 9, to learn racism still existed—to "realize" that to be Mexican meant something, and it wasn't good, not here. I was stunned, shaken into a shame that took years to release; and from which many an admissions essay was inspired.

Since then I've become more critical of my privilege that existed throughout and the guilt that followed. I may have grown up in a bigoted country (albeit quietly), but I wouldn't argue individually-targeted oppression. I've been very fortunate; my parents' hard work and sacrifice literally paid off. And all the while, systemic inequalities continue to persist. To have felt ostracized and to have unabashedly been marginalized is an entire spectrum of nuanced experience. Valid, real, true. Bless this fractured America of ours.

Neither hate nor violence is new to this world, and yet... the events that took place in Charlottesville were viscerally sickening; as is the lack of poignant and morally sound leadership. Hearing about Barcelona and seeing Detroit this past weekend (however imperfect a film) further emphasized my disillusionment. I can't imagine a more necessary time to be reading Rebecca's Solnit's Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities. Nor to stumble across a horoscope such as this one: "It’s easy to take on the imagined weight of this whole world, more and more, until you can hardly stand underneath it. Don’t imagine away your own power, this week. Don’t imagine away the strength you have to keep moving, to keep living, to make the changes on the ground that matter." What does that look like you, too, might have asked yourself. It's not too late:

Get informed about what exactly happened in Charlottesville. Understand the why. Sit with your discomfort while doing so.

Make a donation to organizations that are making a difference now. Regularly fight passivity as well as hate.

Show up, because... yes, there are still points to protesting.

Do not stop paying attention, please.

These days, it’s especially important to have a great source of news and push yourself outside your bubble. Two podcasts we highly recommend: Code Switch, an eye-opening weekly NPR podcast hosted by journalists of color who address the trickiest questions about race in America. And The Daily, a 20-minute weekday podcast from The New York Times. (Yesterday’s episode included first-hand footage from a correspondent in Charlottesville; and today’s episode detailed a city councilor’s experience during the fight over the Robert E. Lee monument, and the chain of events that led to this weekend’s violence.)

It’s Been a Minute is another podcast to add to your playlist. Host Sam Sanders took on the topic of “Charlottesville and White People” in his latest episode. For his part, Sanders sees the hashtag #ThisIsNotUs, which went viral in the aftermath of Charlottesville, as unhelpful. “Even if we don’t think we’re part of the problem, we’re part of the system that has a problem,” he says. “That means that every day we have to ask ourselves what we’re doing to make things better or worse. And a hashtag like #ThisIsNotUs… that’s just a cop-out. -Cup of Jo

No matter your defined race at this moment in time, recognize white privilege. white supremacy, white male terrorism.

Positively influence the next generation—whether or not you're a parent or an educator.

Take better care of yourself and those you care about (as an ally, if applicable).

trying to harvest

"But that's just the thing," I told him, "you don't exist in a vacuum." And from the bottom of my heart I hope the sentiment resonated.

You may have heard "people come into your life for a reason"? Well, I'd argue that's too romantic a notion. Perhaps we're simply fortunate to be able to connect at all; to cross paths in this life and in this universe; to grow through our encounters with others; to know that we can learn from each other, and in the space between two flawed human beings, we can even find support, understanding, hope, maybe love. It's a powerful privilege and responsibility, which makes disregard so hurtful.

My roommate hosted a viewing party for 13th—a chillingly powerful documentary by Ava DuVernay—a few weeks ago. The premise was based at the cross-section of slavery, our criminal justice system, and the evolving yet all the while inaccurate and negative characterization of African Americans... mostly by white men in power, and then reiterated by everyone else. Much of the film is disturbing in its familiar truth; and it is so well done. I highly recommend you seek out 13th on Netflix if you haven't already.

As you may be able to infer, I was heartbroken by the presidential election results. All those hateful comments and policies had been embraced, or worse yet, overlooked; and so much of who I am and what I believe in felt under attack. How, after all this time and progress, did we still live in a world of bigotry, racism, sexism, and bullying? And yet we do. Inequality and resentment are rampant. It's probably awfully appealing to find comfort in prejudice. There's just something about having someone else, the Other to blame.

So, what now? Dave Chapelle encouraged us to give him a chance, John Oliver reminded us that accepting our democratic process should not equate to normalizing his behavior, but what I find to be the most encouraging advice is to counteract with more not less support for each another—listen; stay engaged; give more kindness, empathy, time/money to places like Planned Parenthood, the Center for Reproductive Rights and the International Women's Health Coalition; the NRDC; the International Refugee Assistance Project and IRC; the NAACP, Southern Poverty Law Center, and ACLU; The Trevor Project; MALDEF and American Friends Service Committee; the Anti-Defamation League, Facing History and Ourselves. (More to add? Please comments below.)

It has been a lovely fall season (in New York especially—see above!), and Thanksgiving is coming up quickly, and I'm blogging from Europe where I'll soon be visiting my brother and reconnecting with friends. Let us please take stock of our blessings now and exercise our individual agency to promote good in this world through thought and spoken word and movement. It is as much our privilege as it is our responsibility. As far as I can tell, we need each other more than ever before.

unseasonal

But maybe I just want too much, I told her. I've been seeking to live like a balloon that's tied to the ground but on a really long string. She commended me for the simile and visual.

A couple of days ago, I woke up to my brother's voice in my parents' hotel room. He'd called from Copenhagen to to FaceTime with my Mom. And as much as it truly was nice to hear his voice, the conversation stirred up an uncomfortable restlessness inside me.

I'd worked with a Scottish girl a few days prior at event in San Jose. We commiserated on what a special and unique and gratifying experience it is to spend more than a few weeks outside of one's home country. She loved California. I understood, and yet...

This lull after hosting shouldn't surprise me—I felt it after Marie, and Leslie, and Deanna, and every-single-other-friend/relative-who-has-visited-me-thus-far left. But still, I'm more rooted in Los Angeles than ever. I love my job, my house, and such ordinary comfort is so gosh darn unsettling. Oh, and it should be noted this is not the first time I'm reacting this way, nor the second, and no, not even the third. At this rate, I may very well struggle with a frustrating itch that causes me to seek out exceptional experiences for the rest of my freaking life. (Yes, I'm partially mocking myself.) Please tell me I'm not the only one?

P.S. To-do list as of late: a book club, gym membership, int'l Meetup group, Habitat for Humanity project, and senior volunteer opp.

altruistique

While catching up on the Daily Show recently, I saw an interview with Samuel J. Jackson promoting his latest blockbuster, Captain America. I've been thinking about good guys and bad guys ever since; mostly because there's no such thing. And yet, I also believe "character is the culmination of daily action" (to borrow Brianna Wiest's words). So I've been pondering the really good and less good people I know, and based on my own experiences with them, what actually makes one a better human being than another.

Clearly I'm writing this post because I've got it all figured out :). My working theory is that goodness is equal part intention as it is reaction. Although when it comes to poor choices, "not meaning to" doesn't take away from the negative effects of having done so, we shouldn't reduce the value of effort in redemption and forgiveness--especially, and for instance, after the most horrific events.

{Bois de Vincennes}

Soon after coming to this conclusion, I received an email from ScienceDaily. This headline--People with higher bonuses don't give more to charity--caught my eye. Apparently, "higher earners are less inclined to give, and donate a similar share of their money compared to those on lower incomes." Disappointing, I thought, though not all surprising. (I've been following Kristof's opinions on related issues.) Research lead Dr. Tonin said, "the distorted feeling of entitlement [coming from monetary bonuses that are often a result of skills, effort, and luck] may furnish subjects in the higher earner group with the moral ground not to act more generously."

Then a recent conversation with Lorelei about 'the halo effect' that accompanies benevolence came to my mind; as well as research findings I've shared previously: "Next to quitting smoking, giving is the best possible thing you could do for your health--making virtue truly its own reward." Upon closer examination though, as much as we may feel good by doing good, this hardly selfless feeling encourages a "positive feedback loop" that, in turn, encourages more altruism. Not bad, right? It's likely those great people I spoke of are reveling in such a state of being. And... they deserve to. Amidst more sad news, this world needs more like them.

*For the record, "altruistique" is entirely Franglish-ish. It has no meaning whatsoever yet accurately reflects the way I tend to communicate on a daily basis in Paris. All good, right?

under repair

Forgoing frugality, I treated myself to a cab ride from Gare du Nord yesterday. I typed in the code to my apartment building without thought, and 14 hours after saying goodbye to my parents at New York's JFK airport, entered my petit flat for the first time in two months. That is, once I'd walked up six flights of stairs with my carry-on luggage. Our rickety elevator is finally being repaired! Yay. It took me another three trips to lighten my suitcase enough to drag it up, too. Thank you for the warm welcome back, Paris.

The absurdity of my arrival made me laugh out loud. Since then, I've unpacked, cleaned, and dined nearby with the Rachael. It feels weird to be back; a good weird. Everything is so distantly familiar. (I phrased it in my head that way as I grocery-shopped this morn). Even still, as I readjust to time and Frenchness this weekend, I've also made plans to belatedly celebrate 'Galentine's Day'.

So, Happy Valentine's Day to you! I hope you delight in wine and chocolate [and pizza] with someone(s) you care about tonight.

Though I'll spend mine with Amy and Lorelei, my parents are probably technically my Valentines this year. They did thoughtfully send me off with perfume, chocolate kisses, these sneakers (in red), and the sweetest card. I basically miss them already. And now, to end on a not-so-sappy note, here are some charitable ways to spread the love today with UNICEF and the Case Foundation. À tout !

halcyon

Being home has stirred up emotions, memories, and thought. It's also offered solace. I feel as though I've hit a stride with accepting this awkward amount of time that I'm living under my parents' roof as I research and reconnect. I've also blogged less. I'm not sure how to express what it's like to be with family and friends who embrace me as though I've never left. I doubt I could explain how New York no longer feels like my city yet has welcomed me back with open arms. I will say this though: it's pretty darn great.

Due in no small part, I'm sure, to its impermanence. I'm hardly stuck. I've already got plans for Paris, and London, and elsewhere; and before any of 'em, a few more important to-do's such as tonight's (2nd) happy hour at Murray's Cheese Bar with my darling former roommate. I haven't seen her since the impromptu visit! By the way, when used as an adjective, "halcyon" denotes a period of time that was idyllically happy and peaceful. As we continue to enjoy 2014, let's please not ignore that many who are suffering in this bitter cold--or rather, 'polar vortex'--that's swept across the United States. Here's how you can help the homeless in your city.

obrigado

They say your twenties are for being selfish. They fail to mention, however, how much living abroad amplifies the tendency. As much as it embarrasses me to admit, I'm not entirely looking forward to going home. I'm afraid to face the imperfections of the rest of my reality with the research timer on my master's thesis set and my Parisian life on pause. But, on particular days like this one, I'm especially reminded to appreciate these self-centered concerns. Because, really... how blessed can someone be to have loved ones unconditionally support her ambitions, to enjoy time and space to study her passions, to belong to more than one place? And, to celebrate her favoritest holiday multiple times before reuniting with family for the next two in New York. I'm thinking, very.

I met Phil and Tiphaine once, at the Kinfolk gathering; and for some reason they were kind enough to invite me to join in their Thanksgivukkah! Last Saturday, Sandra and I adventured south of Paris for a most unforgettable Franco-American feast:

Upon arrival, they served home-barrel-aged cocktails: a warm autumn punch made with bourbon and cider (my pick), and a seasonally spiced Negroni. Guests trickled in from near and far as the buffet table crowded with their generous contributions. To nibble during meets and greets, we helped ourselves to endive with blue cheese and local walnuts and wild rabbit rillette on toast.

Eventually, the Thanksgiving-Hannukah meal was served: green salads, latkes with apple sauce, deep fried/smoked turkey, stuffing (southernly referred to as "dressing" because it was prepared outside the bird), green bean casserole, lobster macaroni and cheese.

We digested with re-pours of wine until we were ready for dessert. My Belgian chocolate was nothing compared to the homemade pecan pie, chou au chantilly et potiron (pumpkin cream puffs), and an unexpected berry cake. Coffee, champagne, and a local porter aged on Fernet Branca barrel chips were served alongside. Phil and Tiphaine are obviously the best hosts in the whole wide world.

Eight hours later, I headed back to Paris with plenty of gratitude and leftovers. And I'm already excited for tomorrow's "Anksgeeving" dinner with grad school friends. Although I'm most definitely sad to miss my family's annual fête, I'm thankful for this new tradition, too. Oh! By the way, obrigado is Portuguese for "thank you." I'm especially fond of it because it's so similar to the Spanish abrigo (coat) and abrazo (hug). Happy Thanksgiving, friends! Let's embrace all that significance and share our gratitude generously:

• Donate to disaster relief in the Phillipines.
• Create a care package for a local homeless shelter.
• Send season's greetings to a military veteran, service member, or family.
• Recycle an old cell phone for global health.
• Make Thanksgiving possible for those less fortunate.
• Knit a scarf for a college student in need.
• Smile at a stranger; hug your parents; call an old friend; compliment a loved one; say merci, and really, truly mean it.

recipes for cherished memories

Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, is about a month away. And once again I won’t be in the U.S. to celebrate. I'm already preparing to extra-miss my family. But, I also intend to do my best to recreate the shared meal experience with my community here. In Lauren's words, “Living so far from home turns those with whom we share our meals, our laughs, our fears and hugs into our family.”

I was reminded of the fact this past Monday as I hosted Lara and Lorelei for my much-anticipated "Breakfast for Dinner" party. Now, I am again as I recall Lauren and I's latest resto date. We not only enjoyed amazing neighborhood pizza (I was obviously thrilled), but we also discussed the upcoming Parisian Kinfolk Gathering she’s helped organize this Friday with the lovely Holybelly team.

By the way, did you know restaurants began in France after the Revolution? I found out while researching this paper last spring.

“First, it put many domestic cooks on the street, and second, it set many nouveaux riches in search of good places to eat, nouveaux riches in search of respectability and well aware that the dinner table has always served as a place to administer qualifying examinations to the upwardly mobile,” (Ory 457, La Gastronomie). This phenomenon can be viewed as a mild democratization of an opulent dining experience, which of course, was only available to those that could afford it. At the same time, there was an “extreme centralism” of French cuisine shifting from Versailles to Paris.

Some of my favorite memories with family and friends have taken place around a table, and not necessarily in someone's home. There's something so intimate about "breaking bread" together. Or enjoying Corsican pies at a contemporary créateur de pizza.

Speaking of pizza, it's been too long since Chrissie and I made our own. And she's been on my mind as she trains for the New York City marathon in memory of her father. Please consider donating to a very deserving person and cause? I promise to thank you tomorrow at The Kinfolk Table (assuming you're in Paris) and share my mom's stuffed pepper recipe. There are tickets left! “Come enjoy the simple pleasures of a shared meal, where we purposefully nourish ourselves beyond our physical hunger.”

bonne maman

Friday night, moments after Lorelei and I enjoyed yummy tamales for a great cause, a cute guy asked me: "Why France?" He was wondering what made me decide on this country out of so many others as the place I'd purse a master's degree. "It was the safest option," I replied. And it's true. I love art, food, and wine. Also, I studied French in college, spent a semester living in Strasbourg, and knew I had the most wonderful French family who'd care for me like one of their own. Moving to Paris was scary, yes, but I had a familiar safety net to arrive to. This past Saturday, I took a break from the city spend the day with Marie-Christine and Patrick.

Almost immediately upon arriving, we took a seat here, in the living room, to catch up as we enjoyed a pre-lunch apéritif. (I haven't seen them since Marie's birthday!) Then we moved into the dining room for the weekend lunch above: leeks vinaigrette, stewed turkey with potatoes and mango, puréed celery root, brussels sprouts, lettuce salad, camembert, tarte aux pommes, and, of course, wine and bread. We finished the amazing meal with small cups of strong coffee. I doubt I'd be in France now were it not for the goodness of Marie and her family. And what a shame it would be to miss out on apéro plans with the aforementioned cute guy... ;)