Quiet Like Horses

How to Tie a Tiffany Bow

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 25 Dec 2018 08:00:00 +0000

This post has been updated with new text, pictures and step-by-step instructions.

The thing I love about presents is how you can use a thoughtful gift to make someone really feel special. Beautiful wrapping paper, a personalized card and the element of surprise—it's not just another Amazon package with toothpaste inside. So while the actual gift is important, it's the presentation that really makes the entire experience. Right down to the bow. It might sound simple, but there's a definite art to tying them. And Tiffany has perfected it.

What Makes a Good Bow

The Tiffany bow is great for a few reasons:

You can tie it entirely yourself (no borrowed fingers required!)
There are no knots involved so it unravels with a single tug (no running to fetch scissors halfway through unwrapping!)
It works magically on packages of all sizes (and with all kinds of ribbon!)

How to Tie a Tiffany Bow

My cousin Denise used to work at Tiffany and taught me all of the steps. Here’s how...

Step 1

Place the ribbon in the center of the box and hold in the center with your left hand. Leave approximately a box length of ribbon at the bottom of the box.

Step 2

Bring the other end up to the top...

...and around the back...

...meeting both ends of ribbon at the package center.

Step 3

While still holding the ribbon at the package center with your left hand, take the ribbon in your right hand and fold it back at a 45 degree angle towards the left...

...and wrap it around the left side and back of the package...

...bringing it back up around the right side to meet your left hand.

Step 4

Snip the end of ribbon in your right hand.

Step 5

Take the now loose end into your right hand...

...and slip it under both ribbons in your left hand, starting at the lower left corner...

...bringing it up towards the top right corner. Pull both ends of ribbon in opposite directions to tighten.

Step 6

Tie the two ribbon ends into a bow (like you're tying your shoes). Tighten and adjust your bow. Clip ribbon ends at a diagonal (if applicable).

Note: Ribbon should not extend beyond the edge of the box.

Watch How to Tie a Tiffany Bow

Want more visual instructions? Check out the video on my Instagram story highlights :)

Gift Like a Pro

Here are my other favorite tips for giving a great gift.

Box it up—Always start with a box whenever you can because 1) it makes wrapping easier and 2) it makes your present look like a million bucks. When I give gifts crisply wrapped in a box, people often tell me they don’t even need the gift inside—they’re happy enough just to have the wrapped box. These kraft boxes are cute, but if you’re in a pinch, an old Amazon box works, too.
Use pretty paper—Because people notice. And it’s another opportunity to delight your gift recipient.
Include a card—For most gift recipients, the note inside is more important than the actual card. I never spend more than a dollar or two on my cards. (The Target dollar bin is a great place to get cards.) But always make sure to include a personalized note (never write only your gift recipient’s name at the top and your name at the bottom!)
Put a Bow on It—A pretty ribbon is the finishing touch that gives your gift that extra pop. I love using thick white ribbon (the wiring makes it really easy to keep the bow shape), fluffy white yarn and baker’s twine.

What to Do in New Orleans: A Travel Guide

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Sun, 18 Nov 2018 23:30:00 +0000

Earlier this month, James and I spent a long weekend in New Orleans, James’ favorite city in the U.S. We ate delicious food every day, slept in, explored the different neighborhoods and—of course—partied (aka having two drinks for me, haha). A friend who used to live in New Orleans said she loved the city because "the people see everything as an excuse to have a party." And it was so true! Everyone, even parents with little kids, is down to have a good time late into the night. Being able to walk around town with boozy drinks amidst historic buildings, festive balconies, sweeping front porches and giant hanging ferns around every corner makes the city feel like an adult Disneyland. (It's easy to see, too, how New Orleans inspired Walt Disney so.)

Heading there soon? Here’s a list of what to do in New Orleans.

Where to Eat in New Orleans

Seaworthy

A hip seafood restaurant, Seaworthy has just the right amount of nautical kitsch and a half-off-oysters happy hour from 4-6 on weekdays to make it a great date spot. We sat in one of their green leather booths and ate a dozen gulf oysters, which are said to be more buttery and less briny than their east coast counterparts. And even though we got a variety of different kinds, they all tasted the same to me: slurpy, salty and delicious. For our main, we shared the shrimp and crab roll served on a perfectly toasted bun. They also have a beautiful outdoor patio, which would be good for groups.

Mahony’s

Mahony's was the first place we ate at after getting off the plane, selected mostly for its convenient location on Magazine Street around the corner from where we were staying, and we’re glad we did. The shrimp and grits came with a tomato/onion jam-thing (amazing) and the shrimp in the po’ boy was plentiful and wonderfully spiced. Mahony’s is comfort food at its best with a casual, homey atmosphere to match.

Cafe Du Monde

The best beignets in the city are a hot debate. People seem equally divided between Morning Call and the infamous Cafe Du Monde. Even though Morning Call has better beignets (yes, I said it, ha!), you have to go to Cafe Du Monde at least once. It’s a beignet institution. Compared to Morning Call, Cafe Du Monde’s beignets have a fluffier, yet somehow denser texture and the batter is a bit bland. However, Cafe Du Monde wins for fast, speedy service and a calm outdoor patio. I also liked that they powder your donuts for you, whereas Morning Call serves their beignets naked so you can sprinkle on as much or as little powdered sugar as you want.

Morning Call

After trying both places, James and I prefer Morning Call beignets for their texture (thinner and with a crunchier exterior) and taste (lightly sweetened batter). Morning Call’s location in the park, full of moss-covered trees, also can’t be beat. Tip: Word has it that Cafe Du Monde plans to eventually take over the Morning Call lease when it’s up, so eat them while you can!

Mr. B’s Bistro

I was in New Orleans for all of three hours before learning all about Mr. B’s BBQ shrimp. A woman I met at dinner told me it’s her signature dish to make to impress her friends. She even gave me the recipe (with the modifications, of course, to halve the pepper and consider using large shrimp vs. jumbo). Since we were in the French Quarter, we dropped by Mr. B's Bistro for lunch, and I got the infamous shrimp. Not quite what it sounds like, the dish comes with shell-on shrimp served in a bowl of rich, velvety sauce. The bib comes in handy :)

Commander’s Palace

Home of the three-martini lunch, Commander’s Palace has a ladies-who-lunch kind of vibe with a unique edge. Because while there's an enforced dress code and they change your water glass out halfway through your meal, they also serve $0.25 martinis to keep it real. You can have up to three per person! James got the grilled fish of the day (perfectly cooked) and I got the BBQ shrimp (my new favorite dish) over a bed of grits.

Tailgate party

If the Saints are playing, go to a tailgate party downtown. If you aren’t invited to one, be brave and try to befriend some nice people because tailgating in New Orleans is an experience. The city turns into one big party, where the food is just as important as the booze. Our friend showed up at 7 a.m. to set up a spit so he could roast an entire goat! It took 6-7 hours to roast and when it was done he chopped up the meat and made tacos with all the fixings for everyone. Unreal. And to think that I usually just bring bean dip.

What to Do in New Orleans

Ride the Algiers Ferry ⛴

From the French Quarter, hop on the Algiers Ferry for a short ride across The Mississippi to Algiers Point, New Orleans second oldest neighborhood. The ride’s worth it just to say you’ve been on The Mississippi, but sleepy Algiers Point has a couple of bars, shops and restaurants, too. Congregation is a cute coffee shop if you’re in need of a refreshment (or bathroom). Tip: the ferry is $2 each way; cash only; exact fare. There’s a change machine by the vending machines if you need it.

Look up at the trees

It’s a bird, it’s a plane... it’s beads everywhere. Along parade routes like Saint Charles Avenue, the tops of trees are still decorated with beads from past festivities. It’s a fun way to experience the spirit of the infamous parades even when it’s not Mardi Gras. (Saint Charles is also a great place to jump on the old-school streetcar for a fun ride.)

Go to a house party

The main reason we were in New Orleans was for a friend's wedding. “I just wanted to have a big house party,” the groom told me. The bride walked in accompanied by a live brass band, the couple said their vows on their front steps, and all the neighbors came. Afterwards, we ate gumbo and meatballs under twinkle lights and danced in their backyard.

Check out a cemetery

It's a thing. We went to one near where we were staying called Lafayette Cemetery, but they’re all over the city. They’re beautiful and old and make for an interesting afternoon.

Stroll the Garden District

Known for its beautiful homes, the Garden District is a pretty place to walk around and admire New Orleans architecture. I loved seeing all the porches with rocking chairs (and was surprised to see people actually enjoying them).

Listen to live music on Frenchmen Street

Frenchmen Street is like Bourbon Street but without the strip clubs and drinks named after military-grade weapons (hand grenades) and natural disasters (hurricanes) and with more live music. There's also Palace Market, a cute night market where you can shop for handmade gifts.

Visit Pat O'Brien's on Bourbon Street

Most bars on Bourbon, peddling Hand Grenades and scantily clad dancers, seem kinda seedy, but Pat O'Brien's has its own charm. Their big outdoor patio with purple up-lit trees make you feel like you’re in the Pirates of the Carribean ride at Disneyland. And they have a dueling piano bar and Hurricane concoctions because that's what you do in New Orleans.

Bar hop on Magazine Street

More relaxed than the Bourbon or Frenchmen Street scene, Magazine is where the locals go to drink. And if you're over here, you can also grab a bite at Mahony's.

Relax at the Ace

Grab a latte at the adjacent Stumptown or get a drink at the bar, find a spot to sit in the well-appointed lobby and chill out. If you want to people watch, don’t forget to grab a bag of freshly made pop corn from the machine in the front.

Shop at Freda

A beautifully curated women’s boutique with clothes, jewelry, cards and knick knacks from brands like Ace & Jig, Caron Callahan and Samantha Pleet. Tip: For dudes, check out the equally beautiful (and equally expensive) shop a few doors down called Friend.

Want more travel inspiration?
Check out all my travel guides, including things to do in Mexico City and an inside look into living in Mexico City.

(Second image via Mahony's Instagram, third image via neworleansonline.com, fourth image via Food Network, all others taken by me)

My "Where-Did-You-Get-Those-Pants?" Pants

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Mon, 29 Oct 2018 02:00:00 +0000

The other day, I was walking down the street, when someone started following me. The footsteps got closer and closer, the sound of them getting faster and faster until they matched my own. As I tightened the grip on my bag, I braced myself. I would swing my bag at their head. I would kick them. I would run away. The possibilities flew through my head. And then, before I could do any of these things, they were right there in front of me. A little lady in her late sixties. "Excuse me, but I've been following behind you, and I just had to ask, where did you get your pants?" she asked, pulling a pen and pad of paper out from her purse.

I shouldn’t have been so surprised. They were, after all, the pants. The pants that everybody asks about when I wear them to work or to get a cup of coffee. (The little lady on the street was my favorite inquirer :)

High-waisted, wide-legged and cropped, they're the perfect Jesse Kamm knock-offs—and at a fifth of the price. And now these high-waist, wide-leg pants are on sale for $40!

Styling suggestions:

Pair with a white-tee tucked in or knotted at the front
Top with a leather jacket
Complete with mule flats or white sneakers

(Top image via Jesse Kamm, bottom image via ShopBop/Amazon)

3 Dainty Necklaces

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 16 Oct 2018 05:02:00 +0000

For a long time, my jewelry of choice were tiny little rings. Then one day over the summer, while waiting for a table at Duck and Waffle, I noticed the hostess wearing two layered necklaces. So delicate, you almost missed them. I liked that. Just a little something for yourself, something pretty to catch sight of when you look in the mirror or to run between your fingers when you're deep in thought. Here are my three current favorites.

1. The Dashed Collar

My desk mate Steph shared the brand Automic Gold with me. Their tagline "Yes, wear it in a pool. Yes, wear it to sleep" answers every question I ever had about buying gold jewelry off the internet. Plus, I love the alternating beads and dashes. Like repeating morse code.

2. A Beaded Satellite Chain

I never thought about wearing chains on their own, but lately I've been wearing this beaded satellite necklace everywhere. I have it in the rose gold and love that it never gets in the way and I never have to take it off.

3. A Mini Healing Quartz Pouch

My co-worker Kat came back from her trip to Greece with this VK Lillie necklace (except hers is tan leather), and every time she wears it, I can't help but stare. This last time she wore it, I stared so much, she opened it up to show me the mini quartz stone it held inside. How magical!

Which is your favorite? Do you have any other jewelry brands I need in my life?

(Second image by Gldn; third image by Pamono)

Living in Mexico City: A Travel Guide

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Fri, 23 Feb 2018 23:10:00 +0000

One of the best things about our recent trip to the CDMX was seeing my cousin Melany, who gave us an inside peek into living in Mexico City. With her red locks and fair skin and my black hair and year-round tan, we look nothing alike. She's a quarter Cambodian (her mom and my mom are cousins), three-quarters French, and fluent in French, Quebecois, Spanish and English. Driving around in Melany's dusty red Volkswagen (she'd just returned from a monthlong trip exploring the jungles of Costa Rica) and hanging out with her Mexican friends, we got the real local experience. Here are some of the things I learned, including the one thing you must bring to a dinner party (surprisingly, not flowers!).

On moving to Mexico City: Melany came to Mexico City for six months to learn the language. She arrived with nothing – no job, no work visa, no apartment and no friends – but fell in love with the people and ended up staying. That was 10 years ago. She says it takes time to make your way, just like it would anyone starting in a new country, but if you work hard, you can have a really nice lifestyle.

On what to bring to a dinner party: Melany took us to her friend's birthday party, where I was surprised to see jello (also in the shape of a cake) sitting next to the birthday cake. At birthday parties, you always have both. And if you're invited to a dinner party, it's better to bring jello than flowers!

On being tardy: Speaking of the birthday party, James and I had late lunch plans, so I wasn't sure if we'd be able to make it. We didn't arrive until two hours after the party had started, which, I learned, was totally okay, because, as Melany put it, "It's Mexico." Talk about my spirit-city.

On PDA: One night, we sat in a crowded cafe, drinking hot chocolate and eating churros. We sat across from a couple who were so zoned in to each other, I had to look away. Not because they were doing anything inappropriate, but because it felt like I was intruding on something so intimate. Couples like that were hanging out all over the city!

On candy: Candy is everywhere and everyone eats it. Melany says she'll be in meetings with multiple co-workers sucking on lollipops.

On driving: Melany says you can't drive slow or else you might cause an accident. But traffic can also be really bad (it was bumper-to-bumper when we landed at 5:30 a.m.) so people either drive really fast or really slow. Left turns were funny: a single left-turn lane might spontaneously turn into three. But the best part of driving in Mexico City is everyone's calm and collected demeanors. Sometimes, Melany would just stop in the middle of the road, throw on her hazards, and show us a historical monument or point out a cool building. The faces of the drivers passing us would be like "la di da, just another day in the neighborhood."

On Sundays: Over 20 million people live in the city, so there's always someone around or something going on at all hours. But the city really comes alive on Sundays. Families, couples and vendors (see street hustle) hang out in the city's many parks and public spaces. Huge parts of the city feel like one big party.

What $1500/month (USD) gets you for living in Mexico City:

An apartment - Average rent is $700
A well-stocked kitchen - Food costs about $200 per month
A cleaning person 1x per week
Dinner at nice restaurants 1-2x per week
A weekend getaway once a month
A gym membership

(Side note: If you want to buy a place, a 3 bed/2 bath condo with a pool, gym and outdoor space starts at $120,000 USD, just 20 minutes from the upscale Polanco neighborhood.)

On street hustle: Melany says that if anyone goes hungry in Mexico City, it's because they want to. Street hustle is everywhere! Here are some of the hustles we saw:

Shoe shining – No shoe-shine stand? No cleaning cloths? Non-leather shoes? No problem! A man walking by offered to clean James' sneakers even though he didn't have any supplies with him. He just pointed at James' feet, asked politely but directly, and then went on his way.
Selling everything – People sell fresh-cut fruit, lollipops, balloons – even masks! – in the park, outside popular brunch spots or in stopped traffic.
Parking guardians – I just made that name up for the people who charge you a small fee for "guarding" your parked car on the street in a popular neighborhood. The hustle is real.

Income by profession: Just in case you're curious (I always am!), here's how much different professions typically make each month (USD).

Construction worker $90	Restaurant server $150 + tips	Entry-level associate $500	Manager at a multi-national co. $3500

Thanks for showing us what it's like living in Mexico City, Melany!

Planning a trip? Check out all my travel guides, including things to do in Mexico City.

Things To Do in Mexico City: A Travel Guide

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Wed, 21 Feb 2018 02:57:00 +0000

This past Christmas, my boyfriend James surprised me with a trip to Mexico City (aka Ciudad de Mexico, or CDMX for short), a vibrant, intoxicating and romantic place. We spent 3.5 days there last week, and I came back home buzzing with energy. With a population of over 20 million, it's no wonder the city is so lively. My absolute favorite thing to do in any new place is to walk around and explore, but here's a specific list of fun things to do in Mexico City.

Teotihuacan - Pyramids in Mexico

Just 30 miles from Mexico City (and a 45-minute bus ride away), this ancient Mayan city is home to breathtaking pyramids and ruins. Even to this day, the origins of Teotihuacan remain a mystery. It didn't cost very much to get in (the equivalent of a couple U.S. dollars per person), and was definitely a trip highlight. While you could spend an entire day exploring, four hours is a good chunk of time to see all the main parts.

The first thing we noticed when we got to the base of the pyramids was just how huge they are. Seriously, huge!

At the top of the Temple of the Sun (the one pyramid you can climb all the way up) people were taking in the views, cuddling (which was cute), sunbathing and even sitting cross-legged meditating.

There were rubber rope railings you could hold onto, which was handy for coming back down the steepest bits.

Next we climbed the Temple of the Moon. Even though you're only allowed to go halfway up, the views from this pyramid were even better!

La Gruta

We left the site (save your ticket and you can come back in later) and headed to lunch at La Gruta, a nearby restaurant in a cave (!) (Tip: To find the restaurant, exit via Puerta 5 and head left, then take a quick right where you’ll see signs pointing you down the long driveway to the restaurant.) The food was just okay, but the tamarind margarita and cave were definitely worth the visit.

Shopping

Utilitario Mexicano: Bon Appetit called this housewares shop the "Muji of Mexico" and our hip hotel concierge described it as "everyday Mexican things, but cool." Everything – from the store design to the blankets, baskets and ceramics – is beautifully minimal. James bought a wool blanket and peltre, the white enamel mugs and bowls with blue rims that were used in our hotel.

Barrio Alameda: We happened upon this set of shops when we were looking for the now-closed-Centro-location of Utilitario Mexicano. The space is fun and design-y with tons of plants, bars, restaurants and quirky boutiques.

Expendio Durango: Although it's a small space primarily serving coffee/sandwiches/pastries, Expendio Durango also has cute home and kitchen goods for sale, like salts, honey and pretty wooden vessels. Worth popping in if you're having lunch next door at Contramar.

Public parks

Even though Mexico City is a bustling metropolitan area, there are lush green parks everywhere. On Sundays, the whole city hangs out in them. It's really fun to just hang out, walk around, drink a coffee and people watch. Chapultepec is the main park, rivaling the likes of Central Park, complete with a castle, a zoo and a few museums. Above is one of the parks in Polanquito, a three-by-three-block area with cute cafes and restaurants, and a Polanquito street.

Farmers markets

Farmers markets in Mexico City are fun because you can walk by all the food stalls and see what's cooking and buy handmade treats and souvenirs. We went to the Mercado Parque Lincoln, which happens every Saturday in Polanquito.

Local's tip: Pick busy food stalls with lots of customers coming and going for the freshest food.

Museums

Frida Kahlo Museum: We didn't get a chance to go to the Blue House, but would love to check it out on another trip. Lines are long, so buy your tickets in advance!

Casa Luis Barragan: I wanted to see the home of Luis Barragan, an influential Mexican architect who's known for his use of bright colors in modern architecture, but we didn't make it. Next time! Note: Reservations are required for admission.

There are so many things to do in Mexico City that my cousin who lives there tells people they need at least two weeks to see everything. But even if you just have a couple of days like we did, I hope you enjoy it!

Planning a trip soon? Check out my Mexico City travel guides for more tips on where to stay and eat. Plus, get an inside peek into what it's like living in Mexico City from my cousin Melany who's lived there for the past 10 years.

(Expendio Durango photo via their Twitter; Frida Kahlo Museum picture via CDMXtravel.com; Casa Luis Barragan picture via casaluisbarragan.org; all other photos by me or James)

Forwards and Sideways, but Never Backwards

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Fri, 18 Nov 2016 21:06:00 +0000

9:10 a.m.
I pull up to the house five minutes early. I don’t know what I was thinking when I volunteered to come. One kid? I can handle that. Two kids? Two makes me sweat. For a brief moment, I think about turning back around, but I know it’s too late. They might have already seen me.

9:18 a.m.
Stacy walks around the house, explaining everything I’ll need to know. The boys and I follow behind her in descending order by age. Thirty-three-year-old me, three-year-old Charlie, and one-year-old Laz. The whole time, I feel the same way I did last summer when my parents left their dog with me for three months: afraid. Afraid I might forget something really important. Afraid I might accidentally kill a living being. The stakes are even higher now. I decide it’s best not to mention these things to her right before she has to leave for work.

9:36 a.m.
After we wave goodbye to Stacy, Charlie asks me to sing for him. This requires some deliberation on my part because the list of people I will sing for is very small—it includes Alan and select members of an acapella group I auditioned for in college (I had to turn my back towards them and face the wall to finish; I was not invited back). In the end, I decide it’s safe to add small children to the list: They don’t have the vocabulary yet to be mean.

9:42 a.m.
Charlie and I get into a disagreement about the plastic cars we’re rolling across the coffee table. According to him, they can only race forwards and sideways. He screams at me when I roll them backwards. In a fine demonstration of maturity, I resist telling him that driving in reverse actually makes more sense. It’s important, I think, to set a good example. Instead, I silently judge the impossibility of each sideways roll.

10:00 a.m.
I catch sight of something purplish on Laz’s face. Is that a bruise above his left eye? Was that there before? I lean in closer for a better look. He smiles at me. Huh. Must have been a shadow. He crawls away and sits up dangerously close to a sharp table corner. I remember the soft spot on his head that Stacy showed me months ago. I wonder if it’s still there. I decide better not to risk anything and hover over him, cupping my hand over table corners while he crawls beneath. He laughs. I pick him up and move him across the room, standing him up next to his baby-walker.

10:23 a.m.
I go back and forth between racing cars with Charlie on the coffee table and re-directing Laz who is tottering precariously across the room. His walker keeps getting caught on the leg of a chair or on the corner of a rug. When he can’t make it more than a few feet before getting stuck again, I pick him up for nap time.

10:29 a.m.
Following Stacy’s nap-time directions, I dim the lights in the boys’ room, put Laz on my lap, and read him three cardboard books. After the third one, I get up slowly to turn the lights off. Charlie, who’d been playing quietly on his bed, beats me to the light switch and turns them all the way up. Laz shrieks. We need to turn the lights off now, I tell him. He turns the lights halfway down, then all the way back up again, and then finally all the way off. I try to think of a more diplomatic way to say Not cool, bro, but before I can say anything, he opens the door and slips outside.

10:37 a.m.
Laz shows no signs of sleepiness. His cries remind me of an adult coming to terms with the fact that the weekend’s over and he has work the next day. I put him tummy-down in his crib while making soft shhh, shhh noises meant to mimic the ocean setting on a white-noise machine. He doesn’t buy it, sitting up and looking at me, crying even louder than before with his mouth in a perfect “o.” It takes singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Stars” a maniacal number of times and drumming a consistent beat on his back before Laz finally falls asleep.

11:04 a.m.
Outside, I find Charlie digging happily in his sandbox. I seize the opportunity to go to the bathroom. As I sit on the toilet, I let out a deep breath. Finally, a moment of peace an— The doorknob jiggles wildly. In here? comes a voice from outside. I freeze. The jiggling is getting more erratic, more desperate. I’m reminded of a scene from a horror movie. The one where the girl chooses poorly, picking a room without two exits to hide in. Just a second! I call out, pawing at the toilet paper. Just as soon as I’ve pulled my pants up, the jiggling stops. I wait to hear the sound of small receding steps, but there is nothing but dead air. I flush the toilet, wash my hands and open the door to find nothing and nobody on the other side.

11:09 a.m.
Want to play blocks with me? Charlie asks when I come back to the living room. I keep my eyes on him and nod slowly. I can’t decide what’s creepier: him pretending to be a ghost at the bathroom door or him pretending like it never happened.

11:22 a.m.
I catch Charlie walking around the kitchen, one hand holding a granola bar, the other pulling Zoey's tail. It’s not nice to pull Zoey’s tail, I tell him. He looks at me in complete seriousness. She turns around and is silly. That's the truth, he says. Before I can tell him it’s still not nice, he looks back over his shoulder and repeats solemnly, That's the truth.

(This is Charlie's serious face.)

11:33 a.m.
Charlie jumps on the mini trampoline in the backyard. I blow bubbles so he can pop them mid-air. He laughs the most when they pop right in front of him so I just start blowing them in his face. He frowns suddenly, stopping mid-jump and pointing a finger at the brown bits on the edge. What's that on the trampoline? he asks. His voice is so filled with disgust, he might as well have been pointing at human feces smeared across the surface. It leads me to feel equivocally disgusted. I use a stick to wipe the debris off.

11:45 a.m.
To make playing cars more interesting, I give Grave Digger (that’s the actual name printed across the door; pretty macabre for a kid’s toy, if you ask me) more of a backstory and pump up his personality. Before crashing into Charlie’s Ice Cream Truck (for the fifth time), I have to finish doing donuts in the desert. (I stop here to explain to Charlie what donuts are, and then I demonstrate by spinning Grave Digger around in fast, tight loops. I’m a wild car! I shout.) Eventually, Grave Digger leaves the sun-bleached desert and heads to Disneyland because he wants a churro.

11:53 a.m.
Charlie and I walk around the house. Grave Digger and Ice Cream Truck are in search of fires to put out. (That we’ve moved on from simply crashing into each other brings me indescribable joy). I open a cabinet and gasp. There’s a fire! Charlie says. I’ll use my hose! I tell him. No, use the powder, he suggests. Okay, I’ll use the— Wait, what does the powder do? I ask. It puts out the fire! he says, emphatically. I change the sound effect I’m making from a spraying hose to a dusting of powder. Note to self: Look up fire extinguishing powder later.

12:05 p.m.
I collapse on the couch. Go back to Disneyland, Charlie says. He wants to do the whole spiel all over again. Instead, I tell him, on Grave Digger’s behalf, that I’m tired and need to eat some dinner. We talk about the color of ice cream we want. I want a pink and red ice cream, Charlie says for Ice Cream Truck. I decide on a blue one for Grave Digger. The cars feast before a heavy sleepiness overcomes them. It’s nap time now, Grave Digger says, laying on his side. Charlie nods and lays his car next to mine. For a few glorious moments, we both rest. I’ve successfully turned Charlie’s cars into the dolls from my childhood.

12:12 p.m.
I hear what sounds like a small dinosaur coming from the other room. Laz is awake.

12:19 p.m.
I fix lunch: reheated leftovers for Charlie and me; mashed black beans and quinoa for Laz. The house is quiet. Too quiet. The dread from earlier punches me in the stomach. Charlie, do you see Laz? I shout out. He’s right here, Charlie says. They both look up at me as I burst into the room. I let out a relieved sigh. Why? he asks. I tell him that I just need Laz to play in the kitchen so I can see him. As soon as I say it, though, I change my mind after both boys return quietly to their toys. I go back to making lunch and am wondering if I’ve mashed the black beans well enough, when Laz starts screaming. Did he eat that chalk he was holding earlier? I knew I should have moved it up higher. But it’s not the chalk or anything else I’d feared. Charlie has an arm wrapped around Laz’s angry red face, another one around his chest. I’m bringing him to the kitchen so you can see him, Charlie says mid-drag. My heart swells: he really does listen!

12:27 p.m.
Charlie runs in a tight circle next to the kitchen table. I'm doing donuts in the desert! he yells.

1:00 p.m.
I leave for a dentist appointment. Rob, the boys’ dad who works from home, takes over for me.

2:30 p.m.
When I get back, the house is quiet. Charlie is asleep, and I put Laz down a short while later. I think about reading or doing something else productive, but I don’t have the energy to move off the couch.

3:34 p.m.
Charlie yells from the bedroom when he wakes up. He is calmly sitting among rumpled blankets with his jeans neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Putting them back on him requires a surprising level of effort. I think these are Lazzy’s, Charlie says when the pants get stuck. Could be, I think. They do seem really small. I look down and see both of his legs stuffed into one pant leg.

3:39 p.m.
We watch “Fire Monster Truck and Police Monster Truck.” I think there is no way anything exists with that actual name, but Rob easily finds it among their recently watched YouTube videos and puts it on the TV for us. Charlie does not blink the entire eleven minutes.

4:05 p.m.
Mama, will you make a road with me? Charlie asks me in the sandbox. For a second, I think about correcting him. But then, selfishly, I think about the number of times I raced cars with him that day and let myself bask in his compliment.

4:16 p.m.
Charlie refuses to be it after I tag him. I calmly explain to him that that’s how tag works: I was it, I tagged him, and now he’s it. I know he’s stubborn, but I can be stubb— Charlie throws his head back so that it hangs at an unnatural angle, like it’s broken and separated from his body, his entire face twists, and his mouth opens into an angry black hole. I sense a major tantrum coming on. Okay, I’m it, I quickly concede. Charlie’s head snaps back into place, and the storm clouds immediately pass from his face. You’re it! Charlie gloats. Our heart-warming moment from earlier is over.

5:07 p.m.
I rest quietly on the couch. Laz chews on the corner of a Lego block. My unsanctioned break lasts for two minutes before Charlie wraps his arms around my neck and swings off my back until I play with him again.

6:28 p.m.
Just when I start thinking about how I’m going to be the parent who sticks her kids in front of the TV all day, the front door opens and Stacy walks in. Mama! we all scream. Three beaming faces welcome her home. Charlie and Laz run to her, forgetting about me, their toys, or anything else. I flop onto the couch and watch the boys crawl all over her. She is greater than even Charlie’s favorite cars.

A Photo Supplement to "The Motel Mansion" on Full Grown People

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Thu, 06 Oct 2016 12:00:00 +0000

I have a new essay up on Full Grown People today about my mom and the crazy adventure she took us on in Hawaii. As a supplement to the story, I thought it'd be fun to share some pictures from our family vacation.

First is the picture up top from when we did a self-guided tour through this old Hawaiian palace. My mom couldn't figure out how to work the iPod, and I doubted she could understand the English being spoken so quickly, so from time to time, I'd provide a quick summary of what I'd learned. "This is the room where they locked up the princess for months. She made this quilt." "This painting is from a Frenchman." "Her bed looks really small, but it's actually the size of a standard twin." Her very good questions of why the princess was removed from power or why she was locked in a room in her own palace for months went unanswered. I can only guess what my mom must think of my auditory-learning skills.

When we got back home, and we were all missing that beautiful island, my mom told my dad that he should spread her ashes in Waikiki if she should die before him. He said, “Now look here, no one’s dying before or after anyone. There's only dying together." My mom called right after to tell me, whereupon we both had a good laugh. Neither of us mentioned how it melted our hearts. We have that in common, my mom and I: We acknowledge sweet things, sad things and scary things alike by making jokes of them.

My mom is the boldest person I know. She can soak in the ocean for hours and hours. When we arrive at a new place, she says "Look at all the people" in a voice so convincing you can't help but feel a similar state of wonder. She tells me sometimes that I look like a movie star. When I have children, I shall tell them the same.

The Zombies at the Bar

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Sat, 10 Sep 2016 00:17:00 +0000

Marnie has a new boyfriend. She’s meeting him after dinner. We pick at our beef chow fun and braised eggplant the way you do when you’re full but don’t want to stop eating. Want to come with? she asks. I have no plans aside from watching Netflix and ordering random things on Amazon. It could be fun. But so could my original plans. I pick up a rice noodle. I have been wanting to meet him. Okay, I decide. She smiles broadly.

The first place we go is a restaurant where we walk in and sit at the bar. Dan, the new boyfriend, is the exact build that Marnie described. I’m impressed by her descriptive accuracy, but before I can tell her she would do well describing someone for a police sketch, Dan’s friend makes a comment about Marnie’s weight.   

“What happened?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” she says.

He holds his hands wide out in front of him, then slowly brings them a few inches apart.

“You lost weight,” he says.

“Yeah, I lost 27 pounds!” she exclaims proudly.

“My condolences.”

Marnie gives me a look.

“She’s happy. There’s nothing to feel bad about,” I say.

He says something about there being more to love before. I pretend not to hear and busy myself with reading the menu.

The bartender arrives.

“What would you recommend for something light and fruity?,” I ask. “The Union Sour or the Mai Tai?”

“Definitely the Mai Tai,” the bartender says.

The menu describes it as having a passion-fruit-cream finish which does sound delightful. The bartender disappears for a few minutes before walking a murky glass towards me. One sip in, and it is neither light nor fruity. The cream-top sits like old sea foam in a mess at the edge of the glass. I decide not to incite any attention over my terrible drink and take the tiniest of sips.

“Sorry we’re late. We couldn’t stop watching this stand-up show that Sobrina showed me,” Marnie says.

“You like stand-up?” the friend asks.

“I like certain ones,” I say. “Have you seen Baby Cobra on Netflix?”

“No,” he says.

“It’s really funny,” I say. “I went to school with her!”

“You did?”

“Yeah, nothing like seeing someone you went to school with on TV to know how far you haven’t come,” I joke.

He stares at me blankly.

“Can you please get a new drink? It’s paining me watching you drink that,” he says. Apparently, my invisible sips aren’t fooling anyone.

The bartender comes by to check on the two girls sitting next to us. They also have the sea-foam drinks.

“She hates her drink,” the friend calls out after the bartender.

“It’s fine,” I say and pretend to vigorously drink it.

“We should just take shots. What do you drink?” Dan asks me.

“She’s driving,” Marnie says. “Don’t worry, Sobrina.”

Just in case, I text my sister where I’m at and ask if I can crash at her place if I need to. She texts back: You’re brave. There were three shootings around there this week.

The night is off to a classy start.

We leave for the next place. There is a line outside, but we get in quickly. I follow Marnie who follows Dan and his friend to the back where there is a mass of people. The music is blaring and everyone is standing with their backs to us. Time freezes and no one moves. We are in a zombie movie. I wait for them to all turn towards us at the same time, revealing their bloodied mouths and pale skin. Instead, a girl walks past us, hitting the play button on the scene. Carrying two drinks in her hands, she makes her way back through the crowd towards the front of the room. It clicks then that there’s a bar back there. We’re just getting more drinks.

Marnie orders me something orange and actually light and fruity. I am touched and bumped from every direction and decide we are in a zombie wasteland after all. There is something else. I noticed it when we first came in and the entire way walking to the bar. I am a head taller than everyone in the room. Never mind that I’m 5’3”. All that matters is that here I’m a gazelle! I am a supermodel! I let it go to my head for a second, enjoying that which never happens. I think of Alan. I like feeling for a minute how he must have felt everywhere he went, towering above most at 6’2”.

Three guys along the wall do nothing but stand and stare with hungry eyes. They look like the type to refer to women as “females.” A group of girls sings along to Rihanna’s “Work.” Who knew there were words besides work, work, work, work, work?

Marnie leaves me to find the bathroom.

“Come down here much?” Dan asks.

“Not really. I used to go to one place though,” I say. It’s not the entire truth but not a lie either. I’d been there at least a few times. “Loft. You know it?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna go there. It’s ghetto,” he says.

In my head I think it might be more fun than standing next to the three guys man-handling all the females with their eyes.

When Marnie returns, we finish our drinks. By now, my orange drink has kicked in. While everyone downs shots of something, I quietly enjoy the swish of my insides rocking on a gentle sea. The kind of place you can go for a warm swim. I turn down drinks offered to me. There is a fine line between this and having my head collapse.

We go outside and then we just stand there. I wonder what we are waiting for. After tugging at my hand unsuccessfully, Marnie leaves me again to get an ice cream sandwich with new friends she’s made. When she comes back, I convince Marnie we should walk to Loft. There’s a dance floor there. I hate standing around doing nothing.

Dan’s friend and I start walking, and Marnie and Dan follow behind us. As we turn the corner, Dan stops and heads back towards the street. Marnie chases after him. I stand with the friend, neither of us knowing what’s going on. We make small talk. He is turning out to be okay.

“He just left,” Marnie says when she returns.

“He just left?” I repeat.

“Yeah, just got in an Uber and went home.”

The warm island I’m on softens how I might have felt about this otherwise.

At Loft, we make our way to the dance floor. I feel the music reverberate through me and dance like I’m in a music video, a tasteful one. I imagine Alan there, too, dancing without a care in the world. Someone grabs my hips and presses his pelvis against me. I haven’t had someone try that in forever. It almost makes me laugh, but instead I turn around and shake my hand between us, like a parent who has to hide her amusement when disciplining her child. He backs up. Marnie is lost in the music video too. She doesn’t notice the grinder. It surprises her when the grinder’s friend backs his butt up into hers. I see him coming at her from the corner of my eye, but I don’t warn her so I can see her reaction. She whips around and mouths a big “NO.” Maybe she says it too, but I can’t hear it over the music. He moves away but, in a ballsy move, doesn't leave our dance circle. He just gets really into the music.

Another guy joins our group. He looks like a recent Indian immigrant. Did he even come with anyone? People are so courageous. Next to us a couple are dancing. He has “Blud Life” printed on his shirt. I wonder if there is a tie to the gang and try not to bump into him too much.

When the streak of good songs ends, we leave the dance floor. The grinder’s friend and the immigrant get absorbed into somebody else’s music video. At home, I notice a stain on my shirt. Someone has spilled an orange-pink drink on me. I drop my keys by the front door and am glad I remembered to buy more laundry stain stick on Amazon last week.

New Writing on Full Grown People

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 07 Jun 2016 15:38:00 +0000

A personal essay I wrote about the loneliness of grief is up on Full Grown People today if you'd like to read it.

Dear Alan: 3-Month Update

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Thu, 03 Sep 2015 15:30:00 +0000

Dear Alan,

Today I am 32 years old, and in so many ways, I don't feel it. I still get excited about going to the candy store. I have a tendency to dress like I'm five. And I have no idea how my 401k works. Then something will remind me of you and I feel a hundred years older. The door to my grief swings open and I am swept away. I am like the 75-year-old widows in the bereavement group the hospital set me up with. Except we wear different shoes. Theirs are thick-soled and unabashedly comfortable-looking. They cover every inch of skin. My shoes are strappy and offer no arch support. They're not the most comfortable, but they're not terrible either. The ladies in the group talk about their 50+ years of marriage, their kids and their grandkids. I tell them that you and I were married for a year and that we really wanted kids. It's clear that I'm not 75 either.

I don't plan beyond the next two weeks. I struggle with verbs. I say things like, "My husband is a software engineer." I don't know how to answer when new people ask how long we've been married. I look down at my hands so they won't see me cry.

I think about all the times I asked you if you would still be with me if I was a zombie, and the way you always said yes without a moment's hesitation. I'm sorry I told you I wasn't sure what I would do if the situation was reversed. In the movies, staying with your zombie lover is always a futile effort. But now that you're gone, I get it. I would still be with you. It would be worth it to be together.

I kept my promise. I didn't sleep alone in our apartment for the first three months. A different friend stayed over each night. Sometimes we'd go to dinner, sometimes we'd just watch TV. When I'm alone, sometimes the silence is deafening. I miss the sound of us. I miss hearing you eat five bowls of raisin bran. I miss hearing your mechanical keyboard at the desk next to mine. I miss hearing about Project 1999. I would take zombie you—any you—any day.

I used to joke that it didn't matter if I died in a car accident because then I'd get to be with you again. Sophie told me at some point she'd have to start worrying and taking that seriously. So I stopped saying things like that out loud. I try not to even think it but sometimes I can't help it.

I know I promised I'd keep living my beautiful life for you, but it's hard. I've gone hiking a bunch and I've been swimming and eating good food. I pretend like you're still going to bust me when I'm in the kitchen late at night eating chips. It makes me laugh. Oh, and I wore the skirt you liked to Lu and Jesse's wedding. We still have to get them a wedding gift. I want to sign the card for the both of us, but is that weird?

Anyway, I'm trying my best. Over the past three months:

Sophie and I took the meepy parents to Hawaii. They never thought they'd get the chance to go in this lifetime (their actual words). That would sound so dramatic if I didn't know they truly meant it. They loved sleeping by the ocean and would wake with the sun and run out to the beach. Oh, meepy parents!

We went to a luau. You would have been so disappointed in us! (Tourist trap!) You were right, it ended up being pretty terrible, especially the food, but the sunset over the water was nice.

I drank a bajillion lava flows because did you know they taste like delicious milkshakes? The fact that I could drink a bajillion (read: two and a half) and not feel anything makes me think they were, in fact, milkshakes.

We went to the Twin Falls. You would have loved it. Before you get to the water you walk through (landscaped) jungle. Your two favorite things: water and jungle!

The water was chilly but you quickly forget because you're swimming in a waterfall and you feel like you're in a Disney movie.

I tried to watch the sunset every night. This one was eerily beautiful.

We got this for dessert at Mama's Fish House. You wouldn't have liked it because of all the chocolate, but isn't it pretty? p.s. I've had better fish at Nick's.

Lu and Jesse got married. I wore the new skirt I showed you. You called it a "fun" color. I love how everything is fun to you, from car rides to colors.

Everyone coincidentally wore petal pink nails and nude shoes. It was fun.

We celebrated the Fourth of July on the Leclair's new rooftop deck. The view of the fireworks was great, and we didn't have to deal with any crazy crowds. Grace brought sparklers because they reminded her of you. What a sweetie.

I visited Roy in L.A. and we ate so much food. We also spent a lot of time looking at cute things. You would have been so happy for me. I wish I could have shown you the Venice Canals. Roy and I both saw them for the first time, and he's lived there his whole life!

One morning we had brunch in a greenhouse which I know you would have loved.

Petrie stayed with me for two months because the meepy parents "wanted me to have a friend." At first I was scared I would forget to take care of him and he would accidentally die, but it was nice having him around. Do you know how many weird people stop to talk to you when you have a dog? So many! One lady kept talking to me about the guy that pulled out a chainsaw and was threatening everyone in her apartment complex. At first she made it seem like she just wanted help finding this karate studio, but I think she needed a lot more. Petrie and I got out of there real quick. Anyway, he kept asking where you were.

Then he got really loud and really mad when he found out you were gone...

...and then just really sad and quiet when I told him it was for forever. He's still trying to make sense of it.

We went on our annual trip to visit Stacy and Rob at the Mouse House in Capitola. This would have been our fifth year in a row.

The clouds dotting the sky were beautiful.

And then the sun set and the sky turned pink and purple and blue. It almost made me cry.

I've been swimming a lot at PJ's. And Omeida took me swimming at the SJSU pool a few times. I'm getting so much better at relaxing; you'd be proud of me. I wore my snorkel a couple of times. Really nerdy, but I saw someone else do it and it makes swimming way funner.

I went to this late-night restaurant in Portland for mac and cheese. They bring your leftovers wrapped up in aluminum foil shapes. I really wanted the three-foot sword (as I know you would have too), but I got a bunny. Lame.

Omeida showed me a new trail at Quicksilver. I can't believe how big the park is! She didn't know about the trail we always do, so next time I'll show her that one. It was really hot and sunny that day, but I loved it. It felt like summer was seeping deep into my bones.

I don't know what I'll do when the days are shorter, the light slips away faster and the darkness comes quicker. That's further than two weeks away, so I'll think more about that later.

I still can't believe you're gone.

Riding Off Into the Sunset

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Sun, 31 May 2015 22:21:00 +0000

My friends, I have sad news to share. On the morning of May 22, my husband Alan passed away in peace at home. Never one to leave you without a visual, he called it "riding off into the sunset." Writing about it now brings a giant lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. We are so touched by the many people who have reached out and cared for us during this difficult time. We had people praying for us every day, people driving around town to pick up Alan's favorite foods and personally delivering it to our doorstep, friends from near and far coming to visit and cook for us, bosses that allowed for flexible work schedules, our favorite restaurant whipping up complimentary, off-menu items catered to Alan's tastes, friends and family helping us at home and in the hospital in whatever way we needed. We are so blessed. I cry every time I receive a card or an arrangement of flowers. Some are from people I've never even met. Please know that I've read every note (and I'm sorry if I haven't responded) and have been encouraged by your words. You are all so, so sweet.

Alan once told me, "It's easier to be brave when you have someone to be brave for. I try to be brave for you. Maybe it would help you to be brave for someone." I didn't really understand what he meant at the time, but when he was gone, I knew. I would be brave for Alan. I would live the beautiful life he'd made me promise I would.

One day I will share more about his last moments. I feel honored that he chose to share the end of his story (at least the one here in this world) with me. Until then, I'll continue to blog about delightful things to eat, see and wear and live my best life possible. Because that's what Alan wanted.

On Being Ready/Not Ready

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Sat, 09 May 2015 21:44:00 +0000

It's been a hard week. Last Friday, Alan had a 106 degree fever and was hospitalized for severe infections. His sodium levels dropped so dangerously low that the doctors were surprised he didn't have a seizure. When we got back home, Alan's nurse Iris came over to check on him. She asked a really hard question that really threw me.

We had been talking about Alan's last days ("for years down the road," I always say) and whom Alan would like to be there. One thing led to the next, and then Iris turned to Alan and asked, "Are you ready to go, Alan?"

The words hung in the air in front of me. It came up naturally, but I was still shocked that she'd asked. I hadn't thought to ask. I couldn't ask.

Just as soon as she had asked the question, though, to my surprise, Alan answered.

"I think I'm ready," he said, "but I don't know if Sobrina is, so I want to stick around for her."

I thought back to the times I had asked him to stay. The times I had crawled into his hospital bed to lie beside him. How I'd clung to him and made him promise.

"Don't ever leave me, k?"
"I'll never leave you," he'd say.

I'd felt guilty every time. But just hearing him say it made me feel better, even if his failing body told me otherwise.

The solid rock wall I'd once offered to Alan for support had started to crack, the edges soft and crumbling. Without asking, I've turned the tables on him, leaning on him more and more for comfort. There are no more doctor's visits, trips to chemo or surgeries for me to prepare for, to help him through. There is just the hard task of accepting everything as it comes and for what it is. It is harder than anything I've ever known.

We recently watched Life Itself (now streaming on Netflix), a documentary about Roger Ebert's fascinating life and his own battle with cancer. The movie was filmed four months before his death from cancer complications. I loved seeing his relationship with his wife Chaz and the love between them. Watching and listening to her was like sitting down with a sage friend who's been there before. The way she described death in an interview really struck me:

"I think one of the gifts of this movie that I hope that people take away from it, is that we all say it, that death is a part of life, but I don't know if we really believe it because we are so afraid of death. And the way that I - you know, one of the gifts that he gave me personally in being there with him when he transitioned is it was so beautiful, I never expected it to be that beautiful. And I think I use the word serene because the atmosphere in the room was just lovely. It was just lovely. And I never ever wanted to see anyone die. And to be there with Roger when he transitioned like that and to see how effortlessly he did it and while we were holding his hands and you - the feeling in the room was one of love and peace and serenity. I mean, that's just - it was just a gift."

Anytime we talk about Alan's last days now, we call it his transition, his gentle exit from this world into the next. I pray that it won't happen for a long, long time, but in the meantime, the image Chaz painted helps me.

This is part of a series called "What I Talk About When I Talk About Cancer." It's inspired by something I read in Haruki Murakami's memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Murakami says it's "... a book in which I've gathered my thoughts about what running has meant to me as a person. Just a book in which I ponder various things and think out loud." It's been two years since Alan's second cancer diagnosis, which I sometimes talk about, but more often don't. These posts are for the times when I need to "ponder various things and think out loud."

The Sweetest Thing

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Sun, 26 Apr 2015 01:10:00 +0000

It’s been hard for Alan to eat lately, so whenever he finds something he likes, he’ll usually have it a few times in a row. Recently, he’s been really into food from The Pastaria, our favorite Italian restaurant. Even though we love it, we stick to our safe, albeit slightly boring, game plan of always ordering the same thing. Then one day, Alan made the exciting decision to throw caution to the wind and try all the pasta dishes on the menu. Our dear friend Sashee has been taking his order and delivering the food to our doorstep. Since she’s been popping into the restaurant so often, the Pastaria owner learned about our story. Sashee told me, “She’s so moved by you both and said it would be their honor to take Alan through the entire menu complimentary. And then when he’s finished, they have off-menu dishes they’d like him to try.” Isn’t that the sweetest?! I was already tearing up but lost it when I saw the card everyone at the restaurant had signed for him. We're so touched!

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Pastaria! We love you and your delicious food.

The Magical Jumpsuit

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Wed, 22 Apr 2015 13:00:00 +0000

If there’s one trend I’m excited about wearing this spring, it’s the jumpsuit. At first I thought they might be too trendy or that I’d end up looking like a J.Lo-wannabe, but then I tried one on and I instantly understood. Jumpsuits are one of the rare things in life that seem too good to be true but aren’t. They’re just good. And so, so comfortable. Wearing one feels like you’re getting away with something. After all, how is it possible to wear what are essentially onesie pajamas out to dinner and still get compliments on your outfit? It’s mysteries like this that are made possible with jumpsuits. The most magical jumpsuit of all is this one from Target. It’s under $30, comes in two colors and fits tall and short people alike (I just roll up the pants when I wear them). My stylish friend Alyssa wore it one day and set off a chain reaction. So far she’s inspired three other friends, myself included, to buy it (and wear it every day (okay, that might just be me)). As she says, it's an all-in-one outfit that you don't have to think about; just throw it on and go.

(Top and bottom photo via WhoWhatWear.com, middle photo via PopSugar)

Our Cavallo Point Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Thu, 16 Apr 2015 23:01:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, Alan and I spent the weekend in Sausalito. We stayed at Cavallo Point, a lodge we've visited before and loved. It's in Fort Baker, a former 1905 U.S. Army post. While they have contemporary guest rooms available, our favorite place to stay is in the converted historic army buildings. (My sister Sophie says they look like they're straight out of The Walking Dead, ha!) Alan came down with an infection right before we left and was pretty wiped, so we spent our time just knocking around. It's not too shabby of a place to be a bum :)

In our room, we'd open the windows, lie down on the bed to take a nap (or watch Gilmore Girls, if our names started with an S) and feel the bay breeze on our faces.

I was reading in this awesome leather chair one afternoon, when a wedding took place on the grassy hill right outside the window. What a pretty place to get married! (Case in point: this wedding).

Before our trip, Alan and I picked up a few books from our favorite book store. I started reading this book, which Alan made fun of me for, but how can I not read a book that's called The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. It was, as I had expected, enthralling.

When we first checked in, I'd read a sign in the lobby advertising free house-baked pastries and coffee in the mornings. The next day, I woke Alan up and made him go with me, promising goodies galore. I'm not gonna lie, I was expecting a pretty nice spread. If not an entire room dedicated to breakfast treats and beverages, then at the very least, a nice long table with a few generously-stacked mounds of croissants, muffins and danishes. I mean, we were staying at a self-billed luxury resort. When we walked in, I spent a few good minutes looking around. Were we in the wrong place? There were no croissant stacks to be found. Maybe everyone else had beaten us to it and all the kouign amanns had already been devoured. I started to tailspin into panic and disappointment, when a man in the corner of the room finished putting a lid on his coffee. He walked away, revealing the tiny table his body had previously been blocking. It held two coffee urns and a small plate of croissants. The travesty! I couldn't decide if I was rightly outraged or if I should continue pretending like we regularly stayed at luxury hotels. In the end, I chose wanting to belong, so I sucked it up, calmly wrapped an extra croissant in a napkin for later and hurried out of the way for the line of people who had formed behind us.

One nice thing about the Saddest Breakfast Spread Of All Time (one day I will let that go), is that there's a long porch in front lined with rocking chairs. You can look out across Fort Baker, see the top of the Golden Gate Bridge and feel the crisp morning air.

There was a pier a short walk away from our room that's popular for fishing and crabbing. And the views! On one side, there's the Golden Gate Bridge, which looked as majestic as ever (it's cheesy, but so true) and always makes me feel small and hopeful at the same time.

On the other side, you have a clear view of the San Francisco skyline and the Bay Bridge (see it on the far left?)

One night, we ventured out to the bar for dinner and sat outside people watching. All the hotel guests we'd seen so far seemed to be of the older, Tesla-driving crowd. Then Alan spotted a couple that looked about our age. I was excited to see some young people and imagined befriending them. Maybe they'd be plebeians like us, a commonality we could bond over. But before I could offer them some of my napkin-wrapped croissant--a gesture of friendship I was sure they wouldn't be able to resist--they got into their Maserati(!) and drove away. On another note, if you ever visit, get the truffle parmesan popcorn!!! It's three-exclamation-points amazing.

Fort Baker would be fun to visit, even if you're not staying at Cavallo Point. You could hike the trails and grab a drink (and that popcorn!) at the bar afterwards. There's also a free kid's museum, too!

On Stopping Treatment and Choosing Hospice

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Fri, 10 Apr 2015 07:41:00 +0000

This past February, Alan stopped taking chemo. Together, we made the difficult decision that he would stop all treatments altogether. No one really talks about why young people with terminal illnesses stop treatment and choose hospice, or what it’s like to make that decision. At least, no one talked to us about it in terms we could understand. Although it feels like it happened in a single moment of clarity, everything that had happened in the months leading up to the decision were all part of the process.

One morning in February, Alan woke up with chest pain. I’d noticed that he’d had a hard time catching his breath the night before. Worried, I sent an email to his oncologist. I drove to work and felt a pit in my stomach the rest of the day. That night, the chest pain got worse. His heart was racing, and he was too weak to move or talk much. His oncologist had emailed back, suspecting he could have pneumonia.

Alan didn’t want to go to the ER (he never did; I couldn’t blame him). So as a compromise, he agreed to go with me to Target to get a blood pressure monitor first. If his blood pressure was too low or his heart rate too fast--two things I’d learned could be signs of a serious infection--he’d let me take him in. We sat in the store parking lot, and I skimmed the monitor’s quick start guide. I attached the cuff to his arm, and a few seconds later the readings told us things weren’t looking good.

As much as we hated it, the ER had become a frighteningly familiar place. This time, though, something was different. A doctor came in to tell us that Alan did indeed have pneumonia. She said, “I need to ask everyone this question, but given your history, I need you to really think about it: If you stop breathing, do you want us to do everything we can to resuscitate you, including putting you on life support?” We were bewildered. We knew he was sick, but was he that sick? He asked if he had a good chance of fighting the infection. “You have a good chance,” she said, “but with everything else going on, there are no guarantees.”

Being on life support means being intubated -- having a tube inserted into your trachea to help you breathe. It can be so uncomfortable that most people have to be sedated. People get intubated all the time, like when they’re undergoing surgery, for instance. But many of these people can get off of intubation because they’re healthy and can breathe on their own after the procedure. Things aren’t quite so clear when your body is riddled with cancer.

“If I’m put on life support, will I get to come off of it eventually?” Alan asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said. No one knew the answers to our hardest questions. She went on to say that if he couldn’t breathe on his own without intubation, he would be kept on life support indeterminately, transferring the weight of deciding when to stop life support to me.

That was all he needed to hear. Alan didn’t want to place that kind of burden on me. He said no to life support, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. I was ready to do whatever Alan wanted (or so I thought) but was grateful that I wouldn’t have to make this one decision on my own.

The next morning in the hospital, Alan wouldn’t wake up. I tried calling his name and shaking him gently, then more firmly. For my own peace of mind, I asked the doctors if he would pull through. “It’s not like he could just slip away right now, could he?” I asked. I just wanted them to reassure me that everything would be okay. But they didn’t. He’s very sick, they said. Their faces said it all.

I started panicking, wondering if Alan had made the right decision last night in the ER. If he had stopped breathing right then, would I really have let them do nothing? Was that really what Alan would have wanted? It didn’t seem right. He was just awake and talking the night before. On top of that, if he had stopped breathing and they hadn’t intubated, he would have died in the hospital, which is the last thing he wanted. The thought that this could be it and not knowing what to do unhinged something inside me. I held Alan’s hand and cried uncontrollably.

Alan was moved to the transitional care unit, the floor that’s a step below the intensive care unit on the Scariness-of-Hospital-Floors scale. His vitals were going crazy, and he developed hypothermia -- his temperature dropped to 94 degrees. Antibiotics dripped into his veins, plastic warm-air-filled sheets continually blew warmth over his body. Eventually, Alan woke up. He started talking and eating again, but we weren’t yet in the clear.

I needed a reality check on what was happening and what we needed to prepare for. So I went to see Alan’s oncologist, one of the few doctors who really knew his medical history. She pulled the x-ray of Alan’s lungs up on the computer screen. We looked at the white spot where the pneumonia was. From what she could see on the film, she told me that she’d be very surprised if he needed to be intubated. He would pull through, she reassured me. But then she said that the infections would likely keep happening. They might become more and more severe. We needed to think about what Alan wanted. This was something people kept saying to us, but I didn’t know what they meant. Before I left, I asked the question we always asked: How long? Six months to a year, she said. My heart broke.

Right before Alan was admitted to the hospital, I had started reading Being Mortal (a book I’d highly recommend to everyone, especially to young people who are dealing in any way with terminal illness). One of the stories about a 34-year-old with terminal cancer reminded me of us. Here she was, telling her husband that she didn’t want to die in the hospital, yet that’s exactly what happened. He felt helpless not knowing how to make her wish a reality. It felt like looking into a mirror. Alan had made it clear that, when it was time, he wanted to pass at home. But the only protocol I knew how to follow involved coming into the ER and being marooned in the hospital for days on end. That is not the kind of plan that leads to living out your last days in the comfort of your own bed, surrounded by friends and family.

The book had brought up a topic no one had broached with us before and one that I knew very little about: hospice. Hospice, I thought, was for those who had given up on life completely and involved nurses who helped you die.

But actually, hospice is quite the opposite. It’s for those who want to choose life now and involves nurses who help you live out your best days possible. Here’s one definition of hospice that I found online and liked: Hospice care is a specialized care designed to provide support to you and your loved ones during an advanced illness. Hospice care, typically for patients who have a life expectancy of six months or less, focuses on comfort and quality of life, rather than cure. The goal of hospice care is to enable you to have an alert, pain-free life and to live each day as fully as possible.

One reason why deciding on hospice is so scary is because you have to accept that there is no cure, at least not in the way of chemos or surgeries or radiation or anything else modern medicine can offer. We’d known for months, maybe even years, that there was nothing that could give him back his life. The only option was chemo to slow the cancer growth. But no one wants to let go of that hope, and with each new chemo Alan would try, it was possible to put off coming to terms with the hard truth. We’d think things like Maybe this new chemo will stop the tumor growth and Alan will get 10 more years! Alan’s oncologist would say similar hopeful things, even though studies showed, on average, that these chemos only added two extra months to patients’ lives.

Watching Alan on chemo was like watching him go into battle every day. The side effects were getting worse and worse. He developed a skin toxicity on his feet that was so severe that he couldn’t walk. Even wearing socks caused tremendous pain. A bigger concern was that despite enduring the treatments and the horrible side effects, the cancer was quickly and steadily growing. All the tests and scans showed the chemo wasn’t working; they were stealing life from him without giving anything back in return. As Atul Gawande writes, chemo takes health and time away from you now to (hopefully) give you more time later. But when you’re waging war against a terminal illness, that time later may never come.

Alan worried that by choosing hospice, he would be letting me down. To me, his decision to stop treatment so he could focus on his time now, despite everything his doctors and everyone around him said, brimmed with courage.

Since getting discharged from the hospital in February, we haven’t been back to the ER once (fingers crossed it stays that way!) Before that, Alan had been hospitalized about once every month for the prior six months. With hospice, the focus is on providing care at home, so a nurse comes to see Alan once a week. We have a 24/7 number to call, staffed by nurses, in case any emergencies happen overnight. There’s no denying the deep sadness we feel or the new challenges and fears we face each week. But these things would still be there even if Alan continued with treatment. Hospice hasn’t been perfect, but it feels the closest to being aligned with Alan’s wishes and for that I am grateful.

This is part of a series called "What I Talk About When I Talk About Cancer." It's inspired by something I read in Haruki Murakami's memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Murakami says it's "... a book in which I've gathered my thoughts about what running has meant to me as a person. Just a book in which I ponder various things and think out loud." It's been two years since Alan's second cancer diagnosis, which I sometimes talk about, but more often don't. These posts are for the times when I need to "ponder various things and think out loud."

Pinterest Nails

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 24 Mar 2015 13:00:00 +0000

My friend Jenny (the one with the great eyeliner) also gets really fun manicures. For Valentine's Day, her nails were pink with gold tips. She recently let me in on her secret: A nail salon that specializes in nail art. It's where you go to get the nails of your Pinterest dreams. Say what?! I was intrigued. The salon is right in my neighborhood, so my sister Sophie and I paid them a visit. We brought in our Pinspiration (here's mine and here's Sophie's), and in the end, our nails looked like they came right off of a Pinterest board.

p.s. The ladies at the salon also talked me into trying gel nails for the first time. I think I'm the last person I know to try it, ha! But I'm so excited to wash dishes and garden and change my oil* without worrying about chipping my nails.

*confession: I don't actually do most of these things

How to Eat a Burger

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 17 Mar 2015 13:00:00 +0000

You know when you're eating a big juicy burger that's perfectly cooked (medium rare) with the perfect number of pickles (four) and just the right amount of spread? It's during these special moments when you realize all the stars have aligned in your favor, colors appear brighter and more vivid, you start thinking maybe your life is complete... and then your burger falls apart. It's a buzz kill. Well, my friend Amanda taught me this simple burger-eating trick: Eat your burger upside down. The top bun is almost always more substantial than the bottom and holds up better as a base. It doesn't get as soggy so your burger stays together the whole way through. Isn't that smart?

p.s. how to eat a cupcake and mini apple pies

How to Hang Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 10 Mar 2015 13:00:00 +0000

A few months ago, I put together a gallery wall in our living room. Here's the finished product above. (There's one empty frame because I can't decide what to put there, but I kind of like the look of the frame by itself, too). I've always wanted a gallery wall and now that it's up, I love it! You know what they say: Gallery walls are the new TV. Well, okay, no one really says that, but it could be a thing! Whenever people come over, we end up staring and talking about the gallery wall for a good five minutes. Back in October, I wrote about how to pick your artwork for a cohesive collection. Today, I'd like to share my tips for putting it all together, including how to arrange the pieces and hang them.

There are two schools of thought when it comes to arranging gallery walls. The first way is buy all the art now (in a variety of sizes) then play art-hanging Tetris after. The second way is to measure now and buy later. I like the second way because even though it takes a little bit more time upfront, it helps you see how everything will look together and pick art pieces in the right sizes. Here's how you do it...

1. Measure your wall space.
Write down your wall specs, then take a picture of the space and open it up in Photoshop. I already had our wedding sign up, so I measured the available wall space around it. (If you don't have Photoshop, you could also do steps one and two in a blank PowerPoint slide).

2. Find art pieces you like in various sizes.
Take screenshots of each piece (or take a picture of it if you already own it) and place them on your Photoshop artboard. Roughly resize each one relative to your wall space. Move things around to get an idea of where everything will hang or where you might need to add another piece.

3. Get your art ready to hang.
When you're happy with the way your collection flows and fits in your Photoshop artboard, order and/or frame each piece.

4. Hang your artwork.
Using the layout you created in Photoshop as your guide, hang each piece.

To make it easy, here's an art-hanging trick I learned from Emily Henderson: Trace each framed piece onto paper and tape it up on the wall. This gives you a general idea of how it will look. Rearrange as necessary until you're happy as a clam.

Lightly hammer a nail through each piece of paper.

Remove the paper from the wall, leaving the nail in its place.

Hang your picture on the nail.

And voila! All your pictures will be hung exactly where you want them.

Finally, I thought it'd be fun to sprinkle in some artifacts and mementos to add a personal touch. So I included our big "For the Love of Pies" wedding sign and invitation that our friend Andrew Beach designed and my dad's Cambodian high school diploma.

Other art pieces include:
Abstract dots
Buffalo
Quotes
Cat
Flamingos
Beach

Is That You Matthew Crawley?

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Thu, 05 Mar 2015 14:00:00 +0000

Do you watch Downton Abbey? My hair stylist stopped watching because he's still mad that Dan Stevens, the actor that played Matthew Crawley, left the show. When we realized that we hadn't seen him in anything since then, we wondered, what happened to Matthew Crawley anyway? Then one night, I watched The Guest and realized this is what happened...

What a transformation! Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a beard. :)

p.s. I think it's funny how people either love Downton Abbey or find it a total snooze. I'm in the love camp.

Five Things on My Spring Wish List

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Wed, 04 Mar 2015 14:00:00 +0000

Good news: Spring is just 2.5 weeks away—woohoo! I'm already daydreaming about sandals and warm weather. Most of all, I can't wait to wear...

High-waisted jean shorts which would be fun for day trips or just lounging around. (These are also cute).

A big, bold statement ring. This one and this one are beautiful.

Ruffles! Especially on sleeves.

Brown lace-up wedges because they're edgy and so chic.

Simple cotton dresses. I love this one.

Practice Makes Perfect: A Week of Wearing Eyeliner

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Mon, 02 Mar 2015 14:00:00 +0000

After seven days of wearing eyeliner, I'm happy to report that I eventually got the hang of it, shaky hands and all. I had to split it up over two weeks because something popped up, but I did it! Here's how it went...

Sunday 2/15:
I wake up early, excited about the possibilities that lay ahead. After spending a few minutes of awkwardly holding the eyeliner pen and a few false starts, I realize I have no idea where to begin. I turn to YouTube, and this video comes to the rescue. I attempt the cat-eye look (at about 1:35) and am surprised when it comes out halfway decent (beginner's luck, I think). I decide to wear it to brunch. It feels like I'm wearing a funky piece of statement jewelry, except on my face. No one else seems to bat an eye at my new makeup, though, so it must look pretty natural.

Monday 2/16:
Today is a holiday, and without the usual pressure of getting out the door as fast as possible for Monday morning meetings, I have the luxury of spending a little extra time on my eyeliner. A few extra minutes turns into two hours. I may be slightly obsessed. I send pictures of my work to Jenny. Go thicker! she says. So I draw a thicker line from the top outer corner of my eye (the tip of the wing) down to the middle of my eyelid. My wings start to look more dramatic. I like it.

Tuesday 2/17:
My mama friends often talk about sleep regression, the period when their babies who once slept so well start waking up in the middle of the night and resisting sleep for no apparent reason. I must be going through something similar—an eyeliner regression, if you will. Everything I’d practiced the previous two days went out the window. To be fair, maybe I should have given myself more than five minutes to get ready. The pressure! I grab a Q-tip dipped in eye makeup remover to clean up the fault lines I've drawn. Surprisingly, a couple of people at work compliment my cat eyes. It's nice to know no one's looking THAT closely.
 

Wednesday 2/25:
It's been a week since I last picked up my eyeliner pen, and it feels like a lifetime. I have no idea how I ever lined my left eye. When I text Jenny for advice, she recommends using my right hand to line my left eye, starting from the outer corner and working my way in. I pile a stack of books on a table and lean my elbow on top to steady my hand. I draw a thin line on both eyes and hurry out the door.

Thursday 2/26:
Jenny, bless her heart, sends me step-by-step pictures of her eyeliner process. It helps me times a million. I can't get my wings quite as bold as hers, but I think I'm getting better.

Friday 2/27:
To switch things up, and to save time, I skip the cat eye for something simpler. Except I've learned that applying eyeliner is never fast and simple when your eyes are two different sizes. Still, I line my eyes from corner to corner and try to even them out. It's far from perfect, but I like how thick it makes my lashline look.

Saturday 2/28:
It's the last day of eyeliner week (yay!) Buuuuut I totally forgot until 9 tonight (oops!) At first I was bummed that I didn't remember, but skipping eyeliner freed up so much time (which I wisely used to watch more of my 600-lb Life).

So, the final verdict? I love how fun eyeliner looks, but I don't think I can wear it every day. It takes a lot of extra time in the mornings to put it on and time at night to take it off. I'm glad for my week of practice though. It'll come in handy whenever I want to switch up my look. If you'd like to give it a try, check out Jenny's handy step-by-step instructions below!

And last, but not least, I used two products which I'd highly recommend: Urban Decay's Eyeshadow Primer Potion and stila Stay All Day Waterproof Liquid Eye Liner. My sister recommended them to me and the combination was amazing—my eyeliner was smudge- and crease-free right up until I took it off at night!

Winged Eyeliner

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 17 Feb 2015 14:00:00 +0000

Every time I see my friend Jenny (above), her eyeliner game is on point. Her eyes always look so dramatic and pretty. Feeling inspired (and because I've had the same makeup routine for the past few years), I'm starting Operation Look Like Jenny. Basically it involves me wearing winged eyeliner every day this week. I figure if I don't make myself practice consistently then I'll always feel too nervous to ever do it. So, I'm excited to report back next week and share any tips I learned along the way. And for some extra inspiration this week, here are a few more pictures of nailed-it eyeliner...

If you'd like to join me or have any other tips to share, I'd love to hear from you!

(top three photos by my friend Jenny, fourth photo by Gary Pepper Girl, bottom photo via PopSugar)

My Breakfast Ritual + A Giveaway!

noreply@blogger.com (Sobrina Tung) — Tue, 03 Feb 2015 16:30:00 +0000

I'm not much of a morning person, but I am a big believer in breakfast. I'll usually eat a bowl of oatmeal or cereal with chia seeds mixed in and make a whole-milk latte. I love the simplicity of my weekday routine, but I thought it was about time to switch things up a bit. I'm a sucker for whimsical kitchen items and found so many at Uncommon Goods, a shop that features unique designs and handcrafted gifts and whose mission is to support and provide a platform for artists and designers. Here are a few of my favorite finds...

First, I traded in my regular bowl for this one with feet. They would be so cute for dinner parties!

Then, I swapped my coffee cup for this pretty scalloped one. As you finish your drink, a hidden animal is revealed inside.

Finally, since we don't have a dishwasher, I have to do whatever I can to motivate myself to wash up after eating. I replaced our old dish soap container with this recycled apothecary bottle. It looks so pretty sitting next to our sink! Even Alan approves.

Just in time for Valentine's Day, Uncommon Goods is giving away a $30 gift card to a Quiet Like Horses reader. You can pick a gift for a special someone or for yourself (you can find a few gift ideas here). For a chance to win, please visit Uncommon Goods then leave a comment below. Please also leave a way for me to get in contact with you should you win. A winner will be chosen at random on Tuesday, February 10. (Update: The winner has been emailed!)

(This post is sponsored by Uncommon Goods, a brand whose products I adore. Thank you for supporting Quiet Like Horses' sponsors!)