I’m telling you, the more places I see and people I meet (and also don’t meet but just do life with day in and day out)…WOW.  The beauty of new.  The fascination of different.  The hilarity of ignorance.

#1.  Hawaii is an actual state…of the United States of America.  Interesting fact:  Honolulu is not an actual island.  That would be Oahu.

Now that we’ve got that established…

#2.  Most maps of all 50 aren’t accurate in scale or layout.  In other words, Hawaii is not underneath California or Arizona or wherever else they choose to stick us but is actually 2,500 miles west of the West Coast.  That’s an approximate 5.5-6 hour plane ride.  Interesting fact:  Alaska is also wrong in most maps.  Google that!  Alaska’s huuuuuumongous!…and likewise, not underneath California.

#3.  Being born and raised in Hawaii does not equate to being native Hawaiian.  For the record, I’m Asian.  Interesting fact: Asian is not a language.

#4.  Being born and raised in Hawaii does not equate to being really good at surfing, doing the hula, or calling everyone “brah”.   Enough said.

#5.  You can indeed be friendly just for the sake of being friendly.  Interesting fact:  I come from a place where our normal is your friendly and our friendly is your death-by-sunshine-and-happiness.  Please don’t read into things too much or too deeply.

#6.  Rubbish belongs in rubbish cans.  Interesting fact:  If you litter, you are never EVER allowed to complain about New York being dirty.

#7.  When you shake someone’s hand, look them in the eye.  Interesting fact:  I’d really rather not shake your hand if you’re going to be like that.  Lord knows the last time you washed it anyways.

#8.  When you sneeze, cover your mouth (preferably with a tissue in hand or into your arm.  Obviously, #7 is still fresh in my mind as something could quite possibly be fresh on your hand).  Interesting fact:  We will still bless you if it is a clean and cute sneeze but will mercilessly condemn you and all other ailing infidels who dare show the slightest sign of snot in a public place.

#9.  Priority seating on the bus and subway are for the elderly, disabled, or pregnant.  Interesting fact:  We’re all going to be old someday and are going to wish, hope, and pray that some young-ins out there still honor this courtesy.  Interesting fact for men: Giving up your seat is extremely attractive, as is chivalry in general.  Just saying.

#10.  Things don’t always turn out the way you think they’re going to turn out.  Interesting fact: I could only think of nine, so I’m ending this now.  That’s it.  That’s all.  Nine it is.  I’m going to bed.

“So, what are you going to do with your communication studies degree?  Communicate?!” [cue I’m-so-funny-and-original laugh]

Seriously?  Seriously.

Most days out of the year, that quip doesn’t really bother me and is about as hurtful as a five-year old telling me I can’t eat a slice of his mud pie.  Wom-wom.  Life goes on.

Since graduation, though, I have been mulling over more deeply what it is exactly that I should be doing with my education.  Shoot.  Since beginning to pay back my student loans, I better have something pretty darn incredible to share in return for selling my soul to Sallie Mae…hmm, and you would think a communication studies major would be able to communicate it best.

DUMBO.  Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass.  I never hang out in DUMBO; however, we just happened to be down there on Wednesday because the brothers wanted to check out the Brooklyn Bridge Park.

Upon exiting the subway station, lo and behold, there was the Morris Grilled Cheese Truck on the corner glowing, glistening, and beckoning us to come and eat.  Naturally, being the Wee family, we have very little resistance to and a whole lot of love for food trucks, so we had to stop and order.  And while we waited for our sandwiches, I began to wander down the cobblestone streets when I stumbled upon this little beaut.

Sign:  “Help Wanted”

There once was a place that sang the most enchanting three-part harmony of life, love, and belonging.  From the awkward family pictures hanging in mismatched frames to the collections of Connect 4, chess, and Monopoly pieces in the recesses of stained sofa cushions, the space strongly conveyed a sense of “YES, we have kids.”

There was the study where all would work (parents included) on homework after dinner.  Then there was the kitchen where one could always find at least one other sibling, most often times disobediently sitting on the counter with his or her hand directly in the Tupperware.  Then there were the walls, though originally plain and white, were spotted with patches of $6 DAP plaster repair where adolescent boys had lost their temper and miscalculated golf club lengths and strengths.

In hindsight, the most treasured part of it all was that my parents, a pediatrician and internist, could have had the affluent lifestyle so many dream of.  Instead, they chose family over the fortune and stability of a large medical firm, and subsequently created a space although modestly furnished was lavish in love.  Now I reflect back on the sacrifices they made in order that we kids would know what a worthwhile life looks like.  And as a hurting and homesick comrade clings to his sweetheart’s picture so close to his chest, so I cling to those memories, for they remind me of how much I have to be thankful for.