Episode Seven: Paddling at Stow Lake

San Francisco weather has its ways of altering my plans.  At least this time, it was a welcomed change, one that didn’t require muttering to myself, “Just because it’s sunny in Mission Bay, doesn’t mean that the sun is out in the Sunset.” As a part of this series, I planned on going to see a movie alone this past weekend, but seeing that the weather was so beautiful (and so un-San Francisco-y), I decided to skip out on that and see what sorts of trouble I can get myself into at Golden Gate Park.

After asking around for some ideas for this series, someone suggested that I paddle rowboats at Stow Lake, and I thought it was brilliant at the time.  After forking over my $20, I ventured over to the docks to board the last remaining rowboat for the day.   (Seriously, $20 an hour to paddle around the green murky waters of Stow Lake?  On the bright side, I probably increased my likelihood of contracting something that will land me at Moffitt; I call that a steal!). 

At first, I decided that I wanted to paddle the rowboat by myself, as a part of that whole “doing things by myself” routine.  After all, how hard could it be, right?  For about five minutes, I was barely moving; I kept going the opposite way that I intended to go.  It was one of the most petrifying five minutes of my life.  This is probably what it feels like to be Sarah Palin without her debate note cards (with the words “maverick” and “Joe six-pack” written on it).  After what it felt like forever, I wasn’t really going anywhere, so I enlisted the “help” of my CouchSurfing friend from Australia, who was laughing hysterically at the docks as I made a complete fool of myself.  

After a short lesson, I got the hang of this rowboat thing; one oar for turning the boat in a certain direction, two oars in the same direction to propel the rowboat forward.  Who knew that I was nautically-inclined?

With paddling the rowboat requiring less mind power, I was able to focus more on observing other people as I paddled along the lake (my friend served as my coxswain, for the most part).  Along the way, we encountered a few couples in their rowboats, enjoying the serene and romantic atmosphere of the lake.  There were moms and babysitters taking their little tykes for a walk and enjoying their trek along the lake.  There was a solitary runner who appeared to have been busy ruminating about his place in the world and the true meaning of life.  There was also an old couple, enjoying a picnic by the lake, somewhat amused at my lack of coordination and at my propensity to induce giant splashes while rowing. 

My Aussie friend suggested that paddling a rowboat alone is futile.  He reasoned that rowing is such an engaging activity that is meant to be enjoyed with the company of others; for a more obvious reason, he pointed out that I probably would’ve run into the mangrove trees or to another boat if I rowed by myself.  Touché. 

While he might be right with the clumsiness aspect, I think rowing could still be done as a solitary activity.  It would be a great way to decompress and de-stress, combining a strenuous physical activity with serenity and plenty of fresh air.  Even with his “guidance”, we still had a few close calls with mangrove trees or other rowboats, so maybe next time I should just get a better coxswain. 

This is part three of the series in which I go alone to events normally associated with couples.  Next week, I will try going solo to a movie, forreals this time.  

Episode Six: Alone with Mark Anthony... at a Restaurant

I’m going to make a confession:  I have never eaten at a sit-down restaurant by myself before.  I mean, I’ve eaten by myself before at the Nurseteria while studying, but I would normally run into someone that I know and end up eating with that person.   I’ve always wanted to do it, but never had the nerve to try it. 

So, the other day, I went to Andalu, a Tapas-style restaurant in the Mission, to try to get over myself and just go ahead and get on with it.  I resisted the temptation to bring a book to read or listen to my mp3 player as I ate dinner because that would defeat the whole purpose of eating alone.  Sure, it would be a little unnerving at first, with the occasional awkward stares from people, but what doesn’t kill don’t hurt me, right?

So, when I got to the restaurant, I was a little nervous that I almost talked myself out of it.  What is it about eating alone that is scary, I asked myself.  Is it the idea that people would look at me funny? (Not that people already don’t do that, but even more so)  Or perhaps the fear of being alone and the perceived stigma that is associated with being alone?  With my busy school and extra-curricular schedule, I have always reasoned that there’s always someone that I haven’t seen in awhile that I could be spending some quality time with, so when I do find myself without dinner plans, I resort to calling around and end up finding someone to eat with.  As my friend pointed out to me, I may be going to dinner by myself, but I should think of it as me going out on a date with San Francisco.  I felt much better after that.

As I entered the restaurant, the hostess asked me how many people in my party (one) and whether I’d like to sit at the bar; I elected to sit at a table to get the “full” experience.  The place was not as busy as it could be, seeing that it was Monday night, so I got waited on pretty quickly, and I placed my order.

As the server brought out my Cambazola Cheese Fondue with Fuji Apples and Asian Pears, the irony of it all didn’t escape me.  She asked me whether I was expecting someone else (a valid question, in her defense), and after saying no, awkwardness ensued; she politely excused herself out to attend to her other tables. 

There’s something to be said about dining alone; it takes a little bit of bravery and self-assuredness.  There’s something liberating about being able to eat alone; it’s that feeling of empowerment and self-reliance that is appealing, but at the same time, nerve-wracking.  More than anything else, it made me more aware and relaxed; I’ve finally found the time to spend some “me” time.  In our busy lives, we never really have the chance to stop and do just that, and we should take advantage of this whenever we can.

Even if you do feel less brave or less self-assured, it shouldn’t stop you from doing it in the first place.   We learn a lot when we’re faced in difficult situations, when we’re not in our comfort zone.  Personal growth comes from weathering difficult situations and learning from them.  We should always strive to improve ourselves whenever we can; a seemingly insignificant act such as eating alone accomplishes this.

So all of those fears, the weird stares, they did happen, but I’m still standing and have lived to tell the tale.  

Episode Five: Alone with Mark Anthony... at a Wedding

When I received my invitation to my best friend’s sister’s wedding, I almost passed it up.  Looming midterms notwithstanding, the prospect of going to a wedding knowing NO ONE was a little scary; well not NO ONE, but seeing that the only two people that I know that were going to be in this wedding were the bride and the maid of honor, I say that’s pretty close. 

In the end, since I was already heading down to SoCal anyway, for the CSHP conference in Anaheim, I said, what the hell, there was no way I’m missing this shindig.  Two words that clinched it for me: open bar; who cares if I have two midterms on Wednesday?   I figured getting liquored up with the rest of the guests will facilitate the conversation and make for an interesting night. 

I would say from its surroundings, Turnip Rose in Costa Mesa didn’t seem wedding-y and it was easy to miss, since it was surrounded by a medical office and a surgical center, and across from a strip mall.   But nonetheless, it was a gorgeous place to have an outdoor wedding.  The facility had elements of Spanish Colonial Revival architecture, from the stucco walls, Roman arcades and terra cotta tiles to gorgeous fountains in the courtyard.  The weather cooperated (as is usually is the case in Southern California), and basked the newlyweds and their guests with the warmth only San Francisco (and the city supplants like myself) can only dream about.      

Being the fashionably late person that I am, I rolled up into the wedding 15 minutes into it.  I must’ve missed the dramatic portion of the ceremony because when I got there, everyone had a teary eye.  The vows that the bride and groom exchanged were heartfelt without being overly sappy.  My friend’s dad (the father of the bride) provided comedic effects with his “list”.  Even the minister chimed in with his jokes.   It was kind of weird to see a priest/minister crack jokes, because at least at the weddings that I’ve been to (and they’re all Filipino weddings), the priest is always serious, so that was a little refreshing.

As the ceremony ended, they allowed for an hour or so of socializing, with tantalizing hors d’oeuvres like goat cheese wonton, chicken skewers and sliders.  I quickly made my way to the bar area, and made friends with the bartender, “Nick” who apparently has been working for Turnip Rose since 1994, as his name tag suggested.  Three drinks later, he told me that his name is really not Nick, but Kevin, and he would’ve been 12 and working illegally if he did start work in ’94. 

After my third Long Beach in a half-hour, I decided to leave Nick to see what else is out there.  As I was ordering Mai Tais, (I switched since I planned on being sober enough to drive home), I met Presita, Katie’s Paris study abroad friend from Bahrain.  When I saw her drinking her Rum and Ginger Ale with no ice, I know that we would get along and we immediately bonded over the sliders.  She became my source for insider gossip and my fellow people-watcher. 

Oh, for sure, this wedding had all the clichés.  Presita told me that Person X has slept with the best man the other night and Person X slept with Person Y the following night; you could cut the sexual tension with a cake knife!  There was definitely the drunken aunt, the embarrassing moment for the father of the bride, the overly imposing emcee, and the cool kids in the back drinking at the bar.  Thank goodness there was no Macarena, but there was definitely the Conga line and line dancing.  Oh, joy!

And then I met Laura.  In one word I would say: Wow.  I didn’t know that someone that beautiful could be so down-to-earth.  To boot, she’s a smart, sassy, and an interesting human being.  We had a great time in the dance floor and eating the kahlua-infused white chocolate-covered strawberries. 

So I guess going alone in a wedding wasn’t so bad.  We’ll see what happens next.

This is part one of the series in which I go alone to events normally associated with couples.  Next week, I will try my chops at eating alone in a restaurant.  

Episode Four: The Social Constructs of a Vice-Presidential debate

There are things that you just don’t talk about during dinner: politics and religion.  I’ve put this age-old adage to the test last Thursday, when the new student reception for LGBT students coincided with the Vice-Presidential debate. 

It was interesting to observe the dynamics of my fellow students at dinner.   We decided to watch the debates after dinner, so as to facilitate a more “social” environment.  And for the most part, before the debates, the conversations skirted away from the impending train-wreck, and focused on the getting-to-know-each-other topics.  But occasionally, someone will breach the subject of politics, and normally, I would think it would be a little uncomfortable to be discussing politics with strangers, but somehow, that wasn’t the case.  Granted, the dinner party was a bit skewed; it’s almost oxymoronic to be a gay Republican, but it is possible.

And on to the main event: Thursday’s much-anticipated debate between Alaska Governor Sarah Palin and Delaware Senator Joseph Biden was pretty much what I have expected: political discourse filled with half-truths and not-so-subtle attacks, and pandering language with little substance.  In today’s political world, it’s not necessarily what you say but how you present it that matters the most; that’s the most that I can come up with as to how and why we have courageously elected (and re-elected) Dubya.  While we were all relieved and disappointed that Palin didn’t completely fall flat on her face (and I mean, really, with that Katie Couric interview, she couldn’t have done any worse), it definitely deflated the chance of the comedy-of-horrors show that I wanted to have seen.  The idea was thrown around that we should’ve done a drinking game, taking a shot whenever Biden repeated or over-emphasized a word or when Palin threw around the word “maverick” like it’s going out of style; I probably would’ve required a liver transplant afterwards. 

However, the hour and a half debate definitely rewarded us with a few laughs.  First off, Gwen Ifill must have felt the pressure from her critics, pointing out a possible bias with her upcoming book: “Breakthrough: Politics and Race in the Age of Obama”, with an appropriately release date of January 2009, the day after the inauguration.  As a moderator, she failed to reign in the candidates when they go on tangents. Biden’s feeble attempt to shake off his elitist background to appeal to Main Street America by mentioning his humble beginnings in Scranton, Pennsylvania, while in the same breath, talking about his nice house in Delaware, was both endearing and laughable at the same time.  It was also amazing that Biden was able to keep a straight face the entire night and straying away from inflicting low blows to Palin when she’s handing it to him in a silver platter. 

But the star of the night was Sarah Palin.  We got a chuckle once Palin started ranting about women’s right.  Or her inability to answer the questions she was being asked, and instead, offering up memorized incantations about taxes and the economy, even if it is not remotely related to what she was being asked. 

It is a pity that there’s only one Vice-Presidential debate; factcheck.org would have less things to do now.  

Episode Three: CouchSurfing: Changing the World One Couch at a Time

Episode Three: CouchSurfing:  Changing the world one couch at a time.

This past summer, I had the opportunity to experience what France, Germany, Israel, Belarus, Lithuania, and Detroit had to offer.  And I didn’t even have to leave the Bay Area; CouchSurfing made it all possible. 

CouchSurfing’s mission is to “participate in creating a better world, one couch at a time” and to “internationally network people and places, create educational exchanges, raise collective consciousness, spread tolerance and facilitate cultural understanding.”  On the surface, CouchSurfing is a way for travelers to connect with people from all over the world, allowing for people to meet up for coffee or lunch, and in most cases, offering to host travelers in their house for a few days for free. 

But it’s much more than that.  The thing that I love most about traveling, aside from seeing the tourist-y attractions, is the interactions that I have with the locals because it helps me expand my perspectives and allows me to become a better global citizen; being a part of CouchSurfing facilitates this process.   For example, I hosted Tzahi, an Israeli who’s traveling in the United States for 3 months. He’s shared with me stories about his service time in the Israeli army, and gave me his perspective about the Israel-Palestine conflict.  It’s that first-person narrative that humanizes the headlines for me.  Asya, the first person that I couch-surfed with, shared with me her struggles growing up here in the US after leaving Belarus when she was 7; it’s something that we had in common. I left the Philippines when I was 13, and it’s been a struggle trying to maintain an identity that harmonizes both cultures.  

Geddis, my Lithuanian CouchSurfer, shared with me his experience growing up in Lithuania post-USSR, and got me to watch "Californification".  Steve from Rouen, my first CouchSurfer, was on the tail-end of his three-year journey around the world that took him around Africa, Central and North America.  Aside from the French lessons, he’s inspired me to be more brave and pursue things that interests me.  Carsten and Esther, my CouchSurfers from Dusseldorf, has affirmed that true love can still be had; they’ve been going strong for 7 years.  Heather and William, my first stateside CouchSurfers from Detroit, has taught me all about Sans Serif and Georgia O’Keefe and their experience at Creative Studies College. 

Now, I know what you’re gonna say, and no, I’m not crazy... well, maybe a little bit.  How can I let a complete stranger stay at my apartment?  Aren’t I scared that they’ll turn up to be some crazy sociopath that will kill me in my sleep?  And I think that’s the beauty with this whole social experiment.  No, not the crazy sociopath part, but the whole “pay it forward” idealism of it.  And in this ever treacherous and untrusting world that we live in, we can all use a little bit more trust and goodwill.  As Gandhi once said, “Be the change that you want to see in the world.” This idealism is what resonates with me and CouchSurfing. 

And I have met some really interesting people from CouchSurfing; not just the travelers that I have crossed paths with, but also the wonderful hosts here in San Francisco.  We have a really active chapter here in the city and the greater Bay Area as a whole, with multiple events and gatherings that caters to different tastes; from the weekly social gathering, CS Underground, at Coffee Bar in Potrero, the 3^rd Sunday Potlucks, the A-Z restaurant series, language tables, museum days, and many others.  These events have allowed me to get to know the amazing people that make up CouchSurfing.  There’s Zach, the creator of the “Free Hugs” campaign, Dan, the party man and the brains behind the infamous “Apron Party”;  Nithin, the political activist and a Karaoke extraordinaire, Walker, the Wonder Man;  Gabe, the consummate party host, and one of the most adorable human being alive, Maggie, the French enthusiast and a fellow foodie; Lulu, the lovable nurse who has even more energy than I do; Cynthia, my hiking enthusiast buddy and the one and only Amy.  I can go on and on, but I think you get the point. 

It’s a little harder to host someone now, just because of my school schedule, but that doesn’t rule it out completely.  “A stranger is a friend that you haven’t met yet”, and thanks to CouchSurfing, there are less and less strangers to me. 

Website:  www.couchsurfing.com