Re-Defining the Way We Think about the World

I'm an avid TEDTalk fan. And I have found this Talk so incredibly refreshing, thought provoking, and brilliant that I just simply had to post it here.


 

Delta Flight Wisdom

What is “success”?

I’ve been pondering this question for about 6 months now, and I still don’t know how to answer it. I still don’t know what it means for me and what it looks like in my life.

Last August I sat in the middle seat on a Delta flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo en route to moving back to BJ for another year. I sat next to a gentleman from Thailand who looked to be in his late thirties. To be honest, I usually try to avoid talking to the people sitting next to me on long flights because then I feel obliged to keep up the conversation for the next 12 hours when really I would just rather like to sleep or watch 4 movies in a row. But the second I sat down in my seat, before the plane had even pulled away from the gate, this man struck up a conversation with me. This conversation did not radically change my life, but it has stayed with me ever since and has come to mind often over the last few months. He told me about how he used to be a popular musician back in Thailand, how he came to know God, and how he now works in the hotel business and has a family. I don’t remember the details of his story but I remember very clearly a question he asked me. I remember it well because he answered the question himself, but his answer was unlike anything I had ever heard before. If you read my blog regularly you might have read my post back in September about this very question (click here). He dropped his question and answer right in the middle of our conversation. It almost seemed out of context. He said it, then moved on. I was puzzled by his statement. But little did I know that it could not have been in a more perfect context – the context of what was happening and what was to happen in my life.

He said, “How do you define ‘success’? For me, I would answer that with another question: How many times a week do you have tears of joy?”

For the past few months I have struggled with trying so desperately to feel satisfied with myself and my life. I’ve tried so hard to understand why I do not feel like I have achieved some sort of level of success or attained even a slight sense of accomplishment. Again and again I have struggled with self-esteem, with contentment, with having peace, and with knowing that I am valuable and have contributed value. I should feel successful. I am twenty years old and while I may not have created a popular internet company or raised a million dollars for a charity, I am still pretty accomplished. By looking at my resume, I should feel at least somewhat successful. If not that than at least I should feel somewhat satisfied with my work. At eighteen I became the personal assistant to a consultant to the UN. At nineteen I helped develop from scratch the Communications department at an international social enterprise. I aced the final exam at a graduate level workshop on strategic nonprofit development and management taught by professors from Harvard and Boston University. At twenty I got promoted to executive assistant to the CEO of a developing socially conscious company that creates sustainable employment for formerly exploited women. Last week I sat with a group of MBA students from Northwestern University and helped them develop their business idea. “Thank you for your time. You really were a great help. We appreciate you being willing to meet with us” were the words from one of their professors. I live independently in a world capital city. I know people doing great things and get to be a part of their work. I do not say these things to brag about myself, but to simply make a point. Because even with all these “cool things” I have done and meaningful experiences I've had, somehow I am still unaccomplished. I still do not feel successful. Sometimes I feel like I haven't achieved anything of value, done anything of lasting worth, or amounted to anything important. And I am often left to wonder, “What’s the point of it all? What am I even trying to achieve? What on earth is this idea of ‘success’? Will I ever succeed?” Because I know that even if I became a UN consultant myself or if I got a full ride to Harvard without even applying or if I helped a thousand people, I still would not feel satisfied with my achieved endeavors.

But tears of joy…they were present at times I felt like success – the attainment of something good – had been achieved…that time I caught my reflection in a passing bus and smiled at the revelation that a young woman living her childhood dream stared back at me…that time I looked up and saw how comfortable Xiao Zhang's smile was and the light that now shone in her eyes…that time I waited for an eternity at the bus stop giving me enough time think about how funny and crazy my life is…that time when I watched my boss and dear friend declare with confidence who she was and walk in the truth of who the Father made her to be…that time when I looked around the room at my community here and felt like I had come home for the first time…that time when I sat around a table of nonprofit leaders and I felt like I belonged there not because of my intelligence or my skill but because it simply made me feel alive…that time when the light turn back on in my friend’s eyes as she soaked up the love of the Father…that time…that time… that time… It wasn't about my impressive resume or how many people I had empowered or helped. It’s about remembering that my identity isn't found in what I do. It was about crying tears of joy – realizing that life is ridiculously hard, painful, and most of the time full of failure but that good things still do happen, that my heart though getting tougher each day is still soft enough to recognize love in a world of roughness, to remember that being able to laugh at yourself is sometimes the best solution to life’s problems, and that when my best isn't good enough the world will keep on spinning, babies will keep on being born, and my God will keep on being good and having His way in my life. 

What is ‘success’? I still don’t really know. But what I do know is that when indefinable wonder wets my eyes, I’ll try to take in the moment for all it’s worth.

Sitting At the Table

Yesterday I was reminded why I love my job.

We all sat around beautifully decorated tables with red table clothes, candles, name cards and flowers sharing a delicious lunch together. It was International Women’s Day – a day to remember that we are all fearfully and wonderfully made and to celebrate the value and good things He put in us. We also gathered together to celebrate 3 birthdays and 2 weddings that took place among our staff in the last month. And on top of that, we celebrated the expansion that is taking place with the launch of our second branch this coming Monday! It is so exciting to now be able to reach and work with even more women in more cities!

I sat at my place at the table and listened as people went around the room sharing blessings and encouraging words to the birthday girls and newlyweds. Laughter filled the air and eyes shone around the room with the light of joy. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the love being shared and tears filled my eyes. I looked up at one woman who didn't smile at all for the first few months she was with us. Her face now held a giant widespread beam. With her cute dimples showing and her eyes lit up, she spoke with confidence and a sense of belonging. I choked back and blinked away my tears. This is why we are here. This is why I do what I do.

You may wonder why I need to be reminded of the significance of our work. Let me tell you, as much as it is rewarding, it is extremely hard work. Day in and day out working with broken people when I myself am a broken person takes its toll. There is always so much to do and never enough time. You invest and do your best to love them, and sometimes you still have to watch the people you love make poor choices out of their brokenness. The stress of the ever-growing To-Do Lists, the relational tensions that come about when people are in a growth curve, and, for me, the pressure of trying to do my best when I’m not even sure how to do the job I’m supposed to do is a lot to handle. And on top of that, no matter how many things get crossed off the To-Do list or women become transformed, there are always more things to do and more women still trapped in exploitation. Sometimes it all just feels like too much. Sometimes swimming upstream day after day is just too tiring. Sometimes the headaches and the heartaches are strong enough to keep me from getting out of bed in the morning.

But then, He gives me just barely enough grace to lift up my head and notice the change in her. And the change in me.

He is in the business of making us, all of us, whole. And it is tough going. And most of the time it seems like we are getting nowhere.

But I sat at my place at the table on Friday, and that’s just it. It was my place at the table. It was their place at the table. We belonged there. We have a seat at the table. We belonged in a family together; people of all different ages and backgrounds. We've all got our pasts. But we've come together to love one another; to see women filled with true Hope.

Another work week starts in just a few hours. I know the stress, frustration, miscommunication, and overwhelming-ness that await me. But it doesn't even matter. Because I love my job. I love being in the business of journeying with people as the Father makes us whole.  

I get to celebrate every day the talents, potential, value, and beauty He knit into all of His kids. And that’s pretty cool.

I am not coming back.

So, I have approximately three months remaining until I say “Until next time…” to my life in Asia and pack my bags, get on a plane, and arrive in the U. S. of A.

I almost just said “and arrive back to the U.S…” but then I stopped. I don’t think I am headed back there. I don’t want to go back to the place I was at. I am not returning to where and who I was before. It is true I will be traveling there once again, and be living in America again very soon. But I am not going back there because the place I left, the place I knew it to be, the life I left, and the life I knew is not there to go back to. It does not exist anymore. My life in America was what it was because I saw it a certain way, I was a certain way. But I do not see like that anymore. I am not that person anymore. So, it is impossible for me to return to something that is no longer there – to be someone who no longer exists. I am not moving back to the States. I am moving to the States. But to begin an entirely new season, new adventure in a position in life that I have never been in before.

To the eye, not much has changed. I look the same. I am still loud and obnoxious. I am still a 5 foot 5 inch, hazel eyed female. I still have that red upside down Mickey Mouse shaped birthmark on my arm. My parents’ house will look much like it did when I left almost two years ago. The street will be unchanged and family and friends will still be going about living their lives. But things couldn't be more different. They couldn't feel more strange and foreign. Ask me to pin point what exactly has changed or how it changed and I could not give you an articulate answer. I can merely say that life has gone on – it’s morphed, moved on, and managed to be influenced by the past but be completely dissimilar to it to the point of being unrecognizable. I cannot even compare who I was, what my life was like then to who I am and what it is now, because this is all I know now. I am in the process of becoming distilled and I cannot even remember my former diluted way of living life, of being me.

I don’t want to go back to the way things were - even if they were good. I am grateful for past seasons, but I never want to return there. I can’t return, because there is no place to return to.

I've got three months left of this two year adventure. The impending goodbyes will be the hardest yet. But I've never been so excited for my future. I hate leaving good things, but there are many more adventures that await me – some less fun than others but I don’t want to keep them waiting too long because there is still much distilling to do.

So, these next three months will mean a lot to me. I shall do my best to cherish each and every day, to remember that stress never saved the world, and to laugh and cry every time I get the chance.

What my future holds I do not know. I do not even know all of what my past holds, to be honest. But this I know for sure, I am grateful for yesterday, thankful for today, and welcoming of tomorrow because discovering the adventures of surrender is the kind of life I love living. 

It was cold.

In early January, I decided to take a spontaneous weekend trip with a few friends and a few people who became my friends up north to see Harbin's International Snow & Ice Festival.

It was cold. Like really cold. So cold my eyelashes froze together and the inside of your nose crack whenever you tried to inhale. Even though I was literally in the neighboring area to Siberia, I managed to enjoy myself. Bundled up in several pairs of thermals, leggings, sweats, snowpants, 6 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves, earmuffs, beanie, and a coat, I waddled my way through the most incredible sculptures of ice and snow. It was breathtaking, and not just because of the cold. If you ever get the chance to go, go! The International Snow & Ice Festival runs every year for about 5 weeks starting at the beginning of January. Artists and sculpturers come from all around the world to create a magical white wonderland.

That is Farhenheit. And that was the warmest day.

 

 
 

The Worst Part

The worst part about traveling isn't the expense. It's not the often consecutive sleepless nights or days without showers. It's not stomach churning "bathroom" encounters or lost luggage. Heck, it's not even getting picked-pocketed on a crowded bus and having your wallet stolen leaving you stranded without any money (which I have unfortunately experienced on one of my travel adventures). The worst part about travelling is meeting so many remarkable people, and then having to say goodbye to them. Saying goodbye and not knowing if you'll ever get to say hello again. You just hope that you both shall keep up the traveler's way and that your paths shall cross once more at some point down the road...

Things always sound more profound when a kid in a suit is saying them while dancing.

"Two roads diverged in the woods...and I took the road less traveled...AND IT HURT, MAN!...but I want to be on the [road] that leads to awesome."

My thoughts exactly.

A Cup of Tea

I should not be writing a blog post right now. I am leaving in a day and a half and as usual I have a To-Do list as long as the Silk Road. I need to pack, clean, book hotels, confirm bookings, reply to a gugillion emails, work on college applications, do homework, tie up things at work, write application essays, re-write application essays, remember to breathe, do laundry, wait for the laundry to dry, pay bills, go to the bank, and remember all the other things I need to do that I am always forgetting about. The stress of it all is literally making my head spin.

But I'm taking a moment. Taking a moment to enjoy my cup of tea. Taking a moment to remember there's a world outside of mine. Taking a moment to remember that stress never helped anyone - never added a minute to the hour or crossed a thing off the list. I'm taking a moment to be excited about my up coming trip, to pause and remember how much I really do love my work, and to breathe - because even though the air is black and diluted from the pollution and even hurts my lungs, He is still giving me breath, still giving me Life, and still being good.

It's amazing what a cup of tea can do. Remember to have yours today.

Sometimes...

...I write these combinations of words that sort of resemble poem like compositions. Mostly I don't. But sometimes I do. You can read these sometimes somethings here (<--- click that word) on my first yet secondary blog. I don't claim to be a poet. I don't even claim to write poetry. I just like to talk, really. And I like to write too.

And you know what's interesting? I seem to always be torn between really wanting to share my thoughts and have people listen to what I have to say and being utterly terrified of sharing my writings and feeling completely vulnerable and naked by posting my thoughts on this blog where Who Even Knows is reading it.

There is something safe but cop-out-ish about the internet. You can say whatever you'd like without having to look people in the eye. I can post my poems and probably no one even reads them, but at least I've felt like I've shared. But don't you dare ask me to read them aloud to someone. You see, I want to speak - but I'm afraid of people actually listening.

I think we as people long for authenticity but at the same time are much too afraid of ourselves - afraid of who we are, afraid to share it, and afraid of how we will be received. I don't like to let people in. I don't like being vulnerable and open. Yet is the very thing I yearn for: To know and be known.

But before I can be authentic with anyone else, I have to first be authentic with myself. I have to be willing to process, reflect, and claim the truth.

See, this is why I shouldn't have a blog! I just ramble and ramble saying too much and saying nothing at all!

Xiao Zhang

I remember Xiao Zhang’s* first day at the Project.

We had been visiting the women in the shop she worked at for years. Finally one day, we got news that the shop was closing and that Xiao Zhang and another woman wanted to join the Project. We were so excited to welcome them to join us.

On her first day, Xiao Zhang sat closely to her friend. She kept her head down glancing around at us cautiously and avoiding eye contact. She hardly said a word for weeks. Her eyes looked tired and dark. Her smile, when she smiled, was ever so slight and a bit nervous. She was shy and timid.

Who knows what this woman has been through in her 31 years of life that has forced her to keep her head down and made her eyes grow dark?

Xiao Zhang has been with us for several months now. It has taken time for her to feel at home. But today I hardly recognize her.

This past autumn, I returned to Asia after a month long visit to the US. I had only been back in Asia a few days and had not yet returned to work at the SF office. I was in a grocery store near our women’s shelter restocking my kitchen when I spotted a woman across the store. The woman caught my eye and a giant smile burst out across her face and she waved excitedly at me. At first I did not recognize who it was. I was so surprised when I realized who she was. It was Xiao Zhang. She hurried over to me to give me hug and welcome me back. We chatted a bit with the minimal vocabulary we each had of the other’s language. Gone was the timid, cautious woman who had first come to SF. The woman who stood before me was so much more confident and so full of life.

A few weeks ago during team building, a time we spend together sharing and building relationships in the office before the work day starts, I looked up at her from across the table. I thought, “Who is this woman? Can this really be the same Xiao Zhang who came to us hardly ever speaking or smiling?” The woman I see now wears a beaming and breathtaking smile on her face. A light shines in her eyes. She laughs. She jokes around. She sings. She shares her thoughts and feelings. She holds her head up high.

Xiao Zhang’s life has been transformed. No longer is she trapped in a life of exploitation. She now has a chance to realize her potential and be valued for who she is. She is a hard and happy worker. Xiao Zhang was recently promoted to position of Inventory Manager. She is thriving in her new role of responsibility.

Whenever I get tired or discouraged at all there is to do or at size of the problem of exploitation, I think of Xiao Zhang. I think of the smile that now shines from her soul. And I remember why we do what we do. I remember that it is all worth it. I remember there is hope for each and every one.


This was a blog I wrote for SF's blog a few weeks ago but I thought I'd share it on here too.
*Real name not used to protect my friend

My 5 Highlights of 2012

I should post a deep, contemplative, really moving reflection on my experiences of 2012 of all the lessons I've learned, ways I've grown, and amazing things I've seen and experienced. But instead I'm going to cheat and write a short reflection in the form of number points of my top 5 highlights of 2012 listed in no particular order. Ready, set, go!

1. Going to Thailand! 
I have wanted to go to Thailand for literally as long as I can remember. I have no idea why. I just always have. When the plane broke through the clouds and I saw Thailand for the first time, I burst out in tears. The food was amazing, the people are beautiful, the weather is warm, and massages are cheap - but, the thing that made me the happiest to be there was that the little kid who used to look at atlases for hours, who would always try to find Thailand as fast as she could whenever a globe was within reach,  and who would beg her parents to let her stay up late so she could watch Globe Trekker on PBS - that little kid learned that it's OK to hope and dream for things and that that little kid really can go places in life.

2. Surviving/Not dying/Not being run over by a car, bus, or stampede of people rushing toward the bus
There are a lot of people in the city I live in. Like a lot. Like a lot, a lot. Like 23 million. And I feel like they ALL take the bus or subway - especially the bus or subway line that I need to take. So, in addition to not being smothered to death (see blog entitle "THE bus") by the crowds of people that I seem to constantly be engulfed in when trying to get anywhere in this city, I am really glad I have yet to be run over/hit by a car because a lot of the time it is safer to cross the road when the crosswalk sign actually says do not cross. I learned to adapt, cope, and survive in an environment and lifestyle that mostly just makes me go "Whaaa?".  You may think I'm being over-dramatic or sarcastic but the funny thing is, I'm not.

3. Making Great Friends & Meeting Great People
I met a lot of interesting people this past year. I learned a lot from them. I was blessed by them. I was inspired and challenged by them. Many of them I probably will never see again. Some of them will be a major part of my life from here on out. The relationships that were forged, formed, and deepened and the ones that just sorta happened are perhaps the greatest highlight of my year. Without the people I came across or who came across me during my travels, stays, and visits my year would have been filled with a lot less smiles, laughs, tears, lessons learned, accidental adventures, challenges, growing curves, inspirations, and hugs. Whether you are my life-long mentor now, the taxi driver who proposed to me on behalf of his son, my boss, my housemate, the Mongolian woman who let me take shelter in her family's yurt during a downpour,  my counselor, or the lady who sold me my veggies, you made my year.

4. Going to Oxford
I can't express to you the joy that overwhelmed my little homeschooled nerd heart to walk the streets of Oxford and grab lunch at the Bird and the Baby. Yes, I ate lunch in the same pub where the souls who gave us Narnia and Middle Earth ate lunch. I was beside myself to say the least. Aside from that, the general history and beauty of the town brought tears to me eyes (1,3, and 4 all mention tears - apparently I cried a lot in 2012!). I didn't plan on going to Oxford. It was a last minute, unexpected, tremendous surprise.
It was like realizing that just when you thought all of the Christmas presents have been opened and the excitement is all over that there is still one more left hiding under the tree - and it has your name on it.

5. Proving Myself Wrong
I used to think it was unrealistic to think that I was ever going to get to travel. Ha.
I used to think it was naive to want my life to be meaningful AND fun. Ha.
I used to think it was impossible for me to ever amount to anything. Ha.


I want to keep going! 5 just isn't enough! There are so many highlights that are now coming to mind. A whole year's worth, in fact! 2012 wasn't all fun and happy memories. No way! It was the hardest, most painful year of my life. But even the low points are highlights in a way because of the lessons and tools I gained from them. I just think of all the places I went to, the adventures I had, the jobs I did, the people I met, the experiences I had, and I am completely and utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. I am grateful, so grateful for 2012.

Distrac...hey, what's that over there?

I have a problem.

If you are reading this, than you might be aware of what I'm talking about. The design of my blog is a big glaring testament of my problem.

I get distracted.

Actually, I let myself get distracted. And in a way, I even want to get distracted.

For example, I log on to write or post a blog. But instead of clicking "New Post", I inevitably and consistently click "Template" instead. Once this first act of defiant distractableness is accomplished I proceed to spend ridiculous amounts of time trying to get my blog to look "just right".  This "just right", of course, is merely a white rabbit I chase after by trying out new colors, fonts, and backgrounds. But I'm never satisfied, never pleased, because I don't really need to change the look of the page anyway. That's not why I logged on to my blog. But for some reason I let myself become distracted from my original intention. It's easier to put together colors and fonts than words and ideas. I let myself become distracted because a part of me doesn't want to write, doesn't want to process, and most certainly doesn't want to post a blog less than brilliant (being a perfectionist with self-esteem issues is exhausting!). I know I need to write, to think things out, and sometimes to even let myself ramble. But I'm too lazy to think sometimes. I'm too tired to think sometimes. And sometimes I'm too afraid to think. So, I let myself get distracted. I let myself forget what I set out to process in the first place. I settle for Hershey's while I could have Cailler if I was only willing to make a bigger investment. Why is it that I am so willing to let myself become distracted? Why am I so conditioned to opt for the easier, faster, brighter option so much of the time in so many areas of my life? Whether it is relaxing, working, socializing, or learning, I am beginning to lose my patience.

I'm beginning to sell my attention to the fastest - not the highest - bidder.

And today I've decided that I'm not OK that. Because the less willing I become to sit down and process, the less capable I will become to engage with life. And I'm here to live life not to watch it.

Sometimes I'm tired of crying, so I laugh instead.

I laugh.

When I think about where I am, who I am – I laugh.

I laugh that kind of laugh that comes out like a bubbling brook from a deep, deep spring
 It starts out like a little trickle then bubbles up and out
That kind of laugh that is heavy, that kind that carries the memory of pain with it
The kind that tastes bittersweet in your heart but taste all the better for it
The kind of laughter that says, “I can’t believe I’m laughing right now but I just can’t help it.”
The type of laughter that comes out gently but strong, oh, so strong
The kind of laughing you do with your heart not your lungs
It rises and falls and leaves you with a knowing smile
A laughter that says, “Oh dear, how on earth did I get here?”
A laughter that whispers, “I remember the hurt.”
A laughter that whispers still, “Somehow it’s okay. I’m okay.”
A laughter that is more like a sigh than a laugh, really
It tells of a colored past – one that was both inside and outside the lines
It speaks of a muffled present
And hints at carefully, hopeful future
The kind of laughter that says, “I’m still alive. My momma was right: I won’t die from hard things.”
A laugh that breathes deeply
A laugh that comes with a few tears too

The kind of laugh that makes me shake my head in disbelief
A laugh that is the beginning of belief
It sets me free a little

The kind of laugh that makes me know that I am alive.

THE bus.

I feel like I can't live in this country without mentioning in my blog at least once the ever baffling, ever frustrating, ever overwhelmed and overwhelming experience of taking THE BUS . And when you are waiting for your bus, it really does feel like you are waiting for THE bus - the one and only bus of your kind because it takes an eternity to appear.
I should have gotten a clue about what my life would look like from here on out from the first time I took the bus home from the office. We had been standing in the cold at the bus stop for some time, when at last the 988 bus came into sight. It arrived and much to my despair even though the windows were foggy on the inside from body heat I could still make out the image of countless bodies and faces pressed up against the glass. The bus was full. And by full I mean jam packed, almost overflowing, mind boggling full. I sighed and said "Well, I guess we'll have to wait for the next one." My local co-worker looked at me confused, "Oh no! We can make it on this one! There is room!" She took a stance that looked like she was going to make a running start for the open bus door that was just a wall of packed to the brim bodies. But then she did that single selfless bus act: she put me in front of her and then made a running start for the bus door. There I found myself being carried toward the bus by a surge of travelers trying to deny the laws of physics and squeeze their way onto the already packed bus. I was caught between the determination of my friend and the wall of bodies that filled the open bus door. It was no use. I was still outside the bus though firmly secured by other people's various extremities to the side of the bus. The bus doors wouldn't close and my friend had not made it on. Then she took a step back and charged forward once more. I leaned with all my body weight in as did she. Some kind soul from within the bus reached out and helped pull us aboard. In a last attempt we squeeze in as a hard as we could into the small open pockets of space under people's arms and in between their legs as the bus doors struggled with all their might to close around the mass of people held within the walls of the green 988 BJ bus. We all held our breath as the doors finally met and the bus drove on. "See," said my friend, "I told you we could fit." Indeed, we did. I couldn't even move my head to look at her to smile back.

And this, this was only the beginning. Little did I know that bus riding in this city would prove to be this much exercise more times than I ever could have hoped. As someone who intensely loves my personal space and often times tenses up when someone sits so close on the couch next to me that their leg brushes mine, riding the bus every day has proved a wild and stretching experience. I am proud to say I have gotten fairly good at turning off my nervous system below my neck - at least I turn it off mentally and ignore the fact that my every body part is being squashed, hugged, and straddled by millions of strangers.

Needless to say, you can imagine my intense delight at fact that my new apartment is walking distance from the office.

And this is just the daily bus. I won't get into traveling via the subway at rush hour or a 12 hour train ride the week before Chinese New Year. Let's not go there. No really, please, don't make me go there.

Since I'm not much of a blogger....

...or a photographer for that matter, here are a few photos (that I mostly stole from other people) of a few recent happenings in my life. Mostly of things that keep me busy in between what mostly keeps me busy.


A 3 hour drive which turned into a 6 hour drive excursion out to the Dragon Gorge during Fall Holiday with my fabulous roommate...

 Just a random sight walking to the bus stop...                         

My 20th birthday! Celebrating adulthood by eating one of my favorite childhood desserts :-)

Accidental Chinese Hipster Party. Yeah.