Bujumbura, Burundi

Holding a boarding pass that said 1F, a beautiful woman sat down next to me on this flight from Kigali to Nairobi. She stood out from the rest of those who boarded at the Kigali stop, not because 80 percent of other newcomers were white and often British, but because of her natural beauty, her brilliant smile, and as I learned later, a vivant personality to match. She turned out to be a Burundaise from Bujumbura.

Women, however, were not the only beautiful thing I noticed in Burundi.

This thought came to me one early morning as I was sipping a cup of coffee at the Hotel Club des Vacances. Grown in a land that had absorbed blood, sweats, and tears of hundreds of thousand people after years of violent civil war, the coffee had a distinctive mixture of sweetness and bitterness, leaving an almost-crude but unforgettable after-taste on the tongue. In front of my eyes, a soft halo of sunshine graced through lines and lines of palm trees, reflecting on the sandy beach that stretched miles and miles around lake Tanganyika. Two crystal-crown birds – particular to this land – approached the stairs, begging for some food. Far away, a fisherman anchored his small boat after a long night on the lake, bringing home tens of mukekes and sangalas.

That’s the thing about life in Burundi – slow, simple, yet subtly beautiful. Outside the small circle of the big men and their families whose social calendars are often filled with cocktails and receptions, most people live an almost routinely lifestyle trying to earn a living – just like pretty much everywhere else. Yet, something particular – like the Friday-afternoon nation-wide sporting program, the neighborhood-organized group exercises, or large congregations at local churches – brings out a sort of simplistic beauty. It may not be for everyone, but this is the type of detour and defrag that anyone can every now and then appreciate.

I know I certainly did.


Photo: View from the breakfast restaurant - Hotel du Club Tanganyika

Contemplation in a Strange City...

I turned on every light switch I could find, and in the dim halo exuded from a few 40W light bulbs, I could only feel the presence of an army of mosquitoes, ready to tackle any millimeter of my skin left uncovered. Here in one of the most expensive hotels in Bujumbura, the term “fragile states” suddenly seemed so real, as it spoke for my own fragility just as well as for the country’s weak post-conflict governance.

For the first time going on missions, I couldn’t wait to return home. It is often said that home is where the heart is. That couldn’t be truer. As I finished checking in at Dulles and walked into a sea of stranger some mere 30-hour before this, I had this distinct regret of leaving behind some strong feelings fully unsatisfied – those of a heart still desperately craving for the other, especially knowing how limited time you do have to enjoy each other.

Alas – distance!

It breaks a heart like nothing else. Despite how much said about how transformational technology could bridge connection, it would never be able to substitute or merely even compensate for a warm hand to hold in the icy coldness, for passionate kisses at the door, or for irresistible body contacts rolling on the floor. Despite what has been said about long-distance relationship, the truth is that when you live two separate lives in two separate continents in two estranged time zones, you can never be more apart.

And just there and then, sitting in front of my computer – fully covered in long-sleeved clothing and heavily armed with insecticide spray – I started to really question for the first time my lifelong desire of traveling the world one mission after another. Business class tickets, expensive hotels, exotic cities: all that extravaganzas could hardly compensate for the loneliness we feel sometimes, being away from our loved ones...

If only we could have it all…


Photo Credit: Human Hand Touch an Artificial Glass Hand - from Shutterstock.com

...so this is good bye for real....

To Hoa.

Fall sneaked up on me – somewhere between a labor-intensive task of building a meticulous work plan and a capital-exhaustive period of social events – as a chilly wind blew into my face and made me hold on to the light-weight scarf to which I had never attributed any warmth-generating value. Despite its endless sun-filled weekends, somehow this Fall season brought to me a perpetual sense of emptiness – as if every last drop of sunshine had been taken away from me.

Or had it really?

This Fall season was a time for me to say goodbye to you, Hoa. Even though I had known this day would come, it still hit me. Hard. The pain it brought, albeit not overpowering or overwhelming, bitterly munched on my defenseless mind. Within seconds I received the news, I was left feeling numb, trying to find a word to describe or an emotional outlet to just break down and cry – but instead, I just fell completely empty.

Hoa – I wanted to write how much this occasion was meant to “bring together hearts, hugs and memories from across the globe – in celebration of your life and all that you have given to us,” and that we would be able to draw strength from your inspirations, and the community you had created. But the truth was that to me, you were not some inspirational Goddess that I turned to learn how to live my life. We have shared even our darkest secrets, and I have loved you for that. You were one of my best friends, and a part of my life that no hearts or hugs would ever make me feel enough.

As sunrays continued to glaze the beautiful color-changing leaves, this emptiness would be eventually forgotten for the work, mission, social events, and many things in my life – but I knew it would always be there, just as my love for you.

May you rest in peace.


Photo Credit: deviantart.com

Dar es Salaam - on mission

I woke up as a tiiiiny ray of sunlight got caught in my eyes, and with a sweeping action, the curtains were spread wide open to reveal a horizon of seawater, punctuated by large vessels which, from where I was standing, seemed like little toy boats leisurely floating offshore. Here in Dar-es-Salaam, life was just as slow - and despite the intensity of the normal Bank mission, I couldn't help letting myself savor that lifestyle every morning like right now.

I had planned to write a long blog on all sorts of genius ideas (what else?) but since I was buried under a huge pile of TORs and professional blogposts, I figured I would add an excerpt from Daniel Sellen's blog on Life in the Field. This blog on a "typical mission" would hopefully give you some perspective on what we usually do during missions. Obviously it's satirical and should be only taken lightly - so enjoy!

It occurs to me that half of Bank staff, maybe more, never get a chance to go on mission. This is a shame, because (a) it's where we get our most important work done, and (b) it's usually lots of fun.

I was recently in a state capital in India where there happened to be four simultaneous missions. This is not too unusual -- often Government staff have back-to-back meetings with the Bank and are mystified to find out that not only did we not know about the previous meeting, we have never heard of the staff members who we saw leaving. They seem to take this in stride.

The three-day mission I was on consisted of making the rounds with several Secretaries and asking them what reforms they intended to make so that we could write these into the loan as a form of conditionality. This makes Government happy (they don't have to bother with any troublesome stuff) and it keeps the Bank happy (we can pretend that reforms were our idea). In the end, it is generally accepted that Government will probably do what they like.

After our counterparts have gone home, the Bank missions gather in various corners of the hotel bar and discuss how the day went, gossip about various difficult Government officials, and after a few more drinks, gossip about members of other missions. The teams then drift off to various restaurants with their note pads, and eventually retire to their rooms to replicate.

Breakfast time on the third day.... At one table is a small forestry mission. At another table a large team is appraising an hydro-electric dam project. In another corner, a transport supervision mission. In yet another corner, a multi-sectoral team is preparing a DPL. About 30 people in all, Bank staff and consultants, most in jackets and ties, with a few saris here and there. Waiters rush back and forth with cappucinos and dhosas, trying to squeeze them in betwen laptops. The diners excitedly exchange tiny pen drives containing critical bits of text, just like (they imagine) secret agents must do. Tourists, munching on danishes, wonder what the hell is going on. An Aide Memoire is born.

At 10:00 the last coffee cups are drained and the various missions break off, jump in a fleet of cars, and head over to their respective offices to present their Aides Memoires to Government, who at this point are confused about whether they are meant to discuss a dam or a forest or a road.

In case you don't know, a mission Aide Memoire is not what the name suggests -- in fact they are hardly memorable at all. An AM is actually a dreary document that explains what agreements were reached in about five lines, which are padded by dozens of pages of fluff which the exhausted Task Manager hasn't had time to edit and never will. It is a fact that every page of an Aide Memoire decreases the probability that it will be read by 15%; as such, a 5-page Aide Memoire will be read by about a quarter of the intended audience, and anything over 7 pages is guaranteed to be completely ignored. At any rate, Bank staff continue to produce these things, with the naive expectation that the things agreed on will magically be done by the time we return on our next mission. This occasionally happens, which no doubt gives us the enthusiasm to produce them again the next time.

This story is of course entirely ficititious. Do others out there have similar figments of imagination?

p.s. what is a "figment"?


Photo Credit: XL - View from Slipway, Dar es Salaam.

Fairytales in Reality

Starry summer nights often take me back to childhood memories of lying on the rooftop waiting for a comet, dreaming of a fairy tale to come true. The plot would be typical - prince charming meets his object of interest at a lavish party held at his palace. She runs off at midnight, leaving behind a (desirably designer) shoe, prompting an all-kingdom house-by-house search in which girls of all feet size try to (deceptively) fit into a shoe that is obviously not theirs. Albeit stretches, the shoe should still magically fit her eventually and they live happily ever after.

In Hollywood movies, these meet-cues continue to be fairytale-like, despite their modern day settings. The main characters meet in a romantic snowy night before Christmas when they stumble on each other and end up having passionate sex. The next day they go on a perfect date in which they talk nonstop about the beautiful things they have in their lives. They are "the couple"in the restaurant - beautiful, well-dressed, and clearly surrounded by nothing but love.

In reality, we met late night through an Iphone app called Grindr and went on our first date at a 24-hour McDonald's for the jasmine green tea to wipe away the Singaporean humidity. On that cloudy night, the cold drink also helped find some peace of mind after a whole day in the hospital witnessing one's best friend going through pains after pains at the last stage of cancer. Sitting outside on the sidewalk, we talked about how our lives were not perfect, tiring, and could be lonely away from home. And at the end, we walked back together in our worn-out flipflops, close and natural as if we had been together for a long time.

We didn't know how it would turn out, but suddenly, life - in that moment of imperfection - felt just like a fairy tale or a Hollywood movie.

.

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* And just like a fairy tale that has to end at some point, we found a good point to say "the end" - and stayed good friends until now.

Photo credit: Catch a falling star - by David Delamare

The vicious cycle of pain

I was sitting with my legs close to my chest in a beautiful garden on a rare cool midsummer afternoon when my stomach went inflame again. I knew the feeling – that of desiring something too much and learning to accept that it was not going to happen – and I also knew the cause of it.

It was the beautiful creature sitting a few inches away from me, petting a small dog in a manner that seemed completely ignorant of the conversation around him.

I had questioned myself from the start of our “non-relationship.” He had ADD; I had OCD. He was European and noncommittal; I was Asian and dreaming of a relationship. I had told myself this would not work, that there was no place for me in his little world, and that this would be the last time I even think of him. And yet, every time he smiled, texted, or talked to me, I snapped that tiny ray of hope and fell right back to the place I was before – vulnerable, painful but somehow satisfied like an addict between joints.

He told me about his previous relationship – crazy, intense, toxic. His friend told me about how his ex-boyfriend insulted, abused, and tortured him – and how he threw himself to that guy like a moth to the flame. All I thought was how much I wanted a little craziness, a little toxicity, or a little intensity – with him.

Thinking about this twisted chase of cruelty, I couldn’t help wondering why we were so addicted to pain. Was life so boring that we needed pain for excitement? Was life so miserable that we needed pain to escape? Or were we just selfish masochists who blindly give in to whatever our hearts told us to, in hope of finding “true love”? And if so, how much pain would we be willing to tolerate before we finally quit?

Quitting, however, would require closure – or putting a meaningful ending to “something” we had. But in the end, there was just no ending – just like there was nothing to begin with.

Photo Credit: La douleur exquise - from vi.sualize.us/kallini2002/la%20douleur%20exquise/

A gleam of the past...

For my Mino.

The notion of "summer" suddenly hit me today on the train back home in the form of a creamy and delicious 6-foot blond intern came back from his day (and gym - obviously!) in a sleeveless shirt torn to the lower seam, revealing a beautifully tanned and toned torso. View like that is the plus side of the Washingtonian summer, when out of nowhere, the city is flooded with bright young things, hoping to make it here some day. They reminded me of some not-so-distant past when I was still in college, wondering what the real life would be like.

These memories had come back to me just a few days before, on a midnight train headed toward NYC as Mino and I reflected on all the changes we had gone through in the few years being friends. There we were, two twenty-something year-olds, still looking for Labels and dreaming of a big Love - but in our eyes, there's already a gleam of reality. We knew now that it took a lot of hard work to afford labels, that real love shouldn't feel like compromises, but also that there was more to life than the two big L's above. Most of all, we knew now that the quest for labels, love, and life required us to look within ourselves to search for the true essence and beauty that wouldn't need approval from anyone.

The hard part is that each of us is going at a different pace - so Dear us, here's to hope that one day we would all see each other at the finish line.

Photo credit: Between Worlds by Eugene Donohoe

Natural beauty from Masai Mara

Just when our little aircraft was about to land on a red tarmac lane standing out from the greens of date trees and the yellows of the savannah, it suddenly picked up speed and steered upward, letting a small horde of warthogs finish their business on the runway. Here in the little Masai Mara Serena Airstrip, these animals are the true kings of the savannah.

As the airplane dog swung open, Africa unveiled in front of my eyes a beautiful mixture of the savannah’s yellow and the trees’ green stretching seamlessly into infinity. Against that backdrop, the wildlife continued their “business as usual” carelessly of the curious safari trucks dropping by twice a day with cameras and occasional ooh-aahs. On the left, two or three giraffes gracefully strutted after their lunch. Down on the right, elephants and hippos leisurely bathed in mud pools to rehydrate, ignoring the crocodiles lying still on the bank. In the back, a queue of wildebeests marched across the landscape, making their annual river-crossing earlier than other years. And just there, amidst the thigh-high grassland, the lions lazily slept their day away.

Driving along the bumpy road one early morning, the sun appeared like a tiny red dot, gradually rising on the left and taking over the soft light from the moon, which was sheepishly fading away on the right. In that magical moment between day and night, LIFE, as it was illuminated in front of me, appeared to be nothing but a beautiful work of Nature. I was lost in that scene for a second, but never saw more clearly or felt more content.

And just like that, I felt alive.

Africa baby!

It's June - and Washington is just tortured with hauntingly humid and hot weather, not to mention insecure personalities suffering from boiling tempers. In such cruel atmosphere, I was more than happy to snap an unexpected opportunity to visit Nairobi, Kenya by way of Zurich, Switzerland, leaving behind the heat and the ordinaries. The next few blog entries, if I manage to do so, will detail this great adventure.

After a delayed flight on UA, Zurich greeted me with a tropical rain and a long queue at security screening. This condition didn't help improve my preestablished image of Switzerland - which I think is incredibly boring! This might have something to do with being turned away twice at Geneva train station to go back to France or feeling so dull in that city once I got in, or stuck at Zurich airport for 2 days before turning around back to Vietnam due to passport problems. Yet, stepping into the Swiss International AirLines B767, I have finally found something to like about this country - the LX Business Class cabin.

Designed in a 2-2-1 configuration, the LX Business Class Cabin is airy and open with seats that can transform into a 180-degree flat bed in a sort of beige/blue color template and punctuated with dark brown leather and light-color wood. The result is a zen-like suite that portrays luxury and comfort - enhanced by absolutely intriguing details such as remote-controlled entertainment system, mood-lighting, coat hooks at the seat, and USB/electricity outlets. The 2-layer blanket, one of which being this soft cotton material, adds warmth, comfort, and of course luxury to the overall atmosphere - completed by a beautifully designed bathroom filled with Valmont handcream, lotions, and lip repairs tubes. The service is exceptional for a Western airline, and the food was actually delicious - while helping open a window to Swiss regional cooking to global passengers.

Despite a short interception of the ever dusty and dangerous road from Jomo Kenyatta Airport to the hotel, I was quickly relieved by a hospitable reception of the Windsor Golf Hotel & Country Club - where rooms in savoy style remind occupants of the old colonial time. Surrounded by comfort and a high-60's temperature, it is no wonder that the DC annoyances seem like a distant past...

...

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Photo Credit: Inkart.com and swiss.com

Savoring Stockholm

Somewhere between the crazy workload and the whirlwind emotional rollercoasters, I found myself unwind in Stockholm - capital of the Scandinavia as it is advertised - in a weekend of pure calmness and serenity - courtesy of some of my very dear friends.

Stockholm is beautiful - there's no doubt about it. The natural scenery is breathtaking with islands of palaces tucked among perfectly cultivated parks, connected with each other by all these bridges large and small. The design scene was absolutely revelating, showcased in different stores from casual to high-end. And the people - oh my! - are just text-book beautiful! You cannot help feeling like you are part of a photoshoot for some fashion catalogue with groups of models in absolutely chic styles passing by left and right. I thought that at any given moment, you can just snap a photo and it would be a perfect, from the light to the background to the models and their clothes. Everything was just gorgeous!

Yet, Stockholm didn't give me a feeling of New York, Paris, or London. Instead, it was perfectly calm and serene. It might have been the city design with low buildings and opening seaport or environmentally friendly technologies that somehow filter out all the noise pollution. Taking a walk down the port, one can easily find peace of mind, even among the crowd. As if it was not enough, a short boat ride to one of the archipelago would take you to an even slower pace of life, where fishing villagers live happily in red-painted wooden houses and spend their day at the local store or an icecream parlor next to the beach.

Now that's a good life!

Photo credit - XL. I found this waiter during his shiftbreak behind TGI Friday. He exemplified, to me, the perfect sense of Stockholm: beautiful and calm.

Good Judgment

I often think I make good judgments, especially when it comes to taste. I often pick out great clothing items, great restaurants, and great friends as well - so it is never a favorite thing when I am proved otherwise.

That explains why I felt almost sick walking out of Wolfgang Puck's The Source after a birthday dinner Monday night. The restaurant received great reviews. I made sure I asked the waiter for recommendations. I considered all options --- and yet, I chose the worst dish they could have made: a deep-fried herb-stuffed sea bass paired with Thai chili sauce that was too dry and too insipid for its price.

Not as quickly as I put down the cutlery, the taste (or the lack thereof) of the fish lingered and turned into a sour-bitter feeling too hard to swallow. Worse, it provoked unwanted thoughts of some other bad choices and questioned some other decisions I was going to make these days, among which the potential dates with this one particular guy.

We met a while ago, and working around the same area sort of prevented us from doing anything - or at least that was what I hoped. I secretly adored him for his creative mind, his positive outlook, his exciting life, and his gorgeous visage. Anyway, after sometime, we finally went on this date - which felt instantly so comfortable from start to the very end... As I went back to my daily life, I couldn't stop thinking about him, his tender touch, his naughty wink, his passionate kisses, and his beautiful smile. Sitting at my desk, I was toying with the idea of going on the next dates....

Yet as that sour-bitter taste of the deep fried seabass lingered in my palate, I began to wonder if he was the right guy at the right time or not - and if he was, whether it would be the right move to show him how much I liked him and how much I was looking forward to our next date. And after all that, I couldn't help asking - why would I let one bad dish ruin the prospect of my dating life, or worse, doubt my taste?

In the end though, I felt that those choices are made for a reason, if not for satisfaction then at least for a lesson that we would remember for a long time. I will surely avoid Puck, or at least the fish, at all cost. Maybe I will decide to let down my guard and let my heart take me to wherever it's meant to be, and if I get hurt, oh well, then I can start wondering all over again.



Photo: by Steve Gosling

Ola' Lisboa!

Portugal is not a common destination for travelers. Let's face it: It's small. It's out of the way. It's not much characteristically different from the rest of Europe - so given a choice for vacation, Lisa, as it is known, would not stand out as a clear choice, which was why I decided to go against all common sense and take a vacation there.

Boys, was I pleased with my decision!

It would be hard to detail all the fun I had there - but I will give you 5 reasons why Lisbon was the perfect vacation spot.

1. It's an extremely relaxed city - I felt it the moment I arrived at the airport: no hassle, no forms to fill, no hoo-haa - just simply an enjoyably chill atmosphere. The weather helps, too. Against the gloomy weather forecast, my days in Lisbon were either filled with sunshine or a bright crisp air, not cold enough to make you chill, but refreshing enough to keep you intact. You see people stroll on the street with such a carpe diem attitude, enjoying the rays of sun tingling on their shoulders. You see people gathering for an expresso or some pastries, on any given day, and hey, given the economic downturn they are facing, it's a hell of an attitude!

2. It's full of simply good culinary adventures! From the Pasteis de Belem (a small tart with flaky crust and creamy fillings) to the spit-roasted chicken restaurants to even the fancier Olivier restaurants, I absolutely enjoyed the genuinely good food - no fancy deco, no formality, just simply very good food.

3. Come evening, Lisa is a party heaven! Strolling the alleys in Bairro Alto with a drink in hand, feel free to stop by any bar for refill or any dance floor to crash the party. In some way, Bairro Alto is like a big college party, except no one is worried about underage drinking, just focused on having a really good time.

4. Lisboners are super friendly! From old men on the trams to young ladies on the street, the people here just make you feel welcomed, even when you don't speak Portuguese.

5. And yes, the boys are dreamy! Portuguese boys are inspirations for hundreds of ad campaigns for A/X, Guess, and so on - but they also put those ads to shame! Walking on the street, you have the feeling that anyone of them can be a model. With their dark features, chiseled faces, luscious lips, and well-coiffed messy hair - these boys can make you feel weak at the knees.

Just like that, one week in Lisbon was a good amount of time to experience the beauty of Lisa in her very own ways. I arrived excited, was pleased, and left with a piece of my heart in Lisbon! Amo-te, Lisa!


Photo: Lisbon bridge - www2.kenes.com

Unexpected anger....

I never thought I would be angry watching American Idols.

I never thought I would have much emotion watching it, if at all. But last night - I really did.

Aside from very talented and worthy artists, the top 12 fell short of greatness, kicking out extremely strong contestants such as Lily Scott and Alex Lambert in favor of the pretty boy Tim Urban and a forgettable Katie Steven. As Lily exclaimed, "I don't know what America wants to hear" - the popular voting system certainly managed to sideline some of the most unique talents who are not of mainstreamed look, style, or vocal. It was certainly not fair!

But life is never fair! This week, as my office space continued to shrink from a glass-wall single room to a pathetic little table in some hallway, I found out that bitter truth the very hard way! While some fresh college graduate temp enjoys an actual office, I am thrown out there in the hall way with absolutely zero privacy! I was angry at that unfair treatment - I really was! It didn't make sense when people told you you were doing a good job and then put you in such a situation when you feel least appreciated. Life is certainly not fair!

Yet, as I looked at the top 12 American Idols - there was also a sense of accomplishment that softened me to tears - a sense of joy when you have done something so great after working so hard. Some of them had been through hard times when things had certainly NOT been fair, and the reward of sitting on one of those uncomfortable stools was worth all that hardness. And I thought to myself, this is just a rough pad - and I have just the right strength to overcome it. If I am put on such a display in that hallway, I will make it a great show!

At the end, it will be worth it!


Credit: Presidential Candidate JFK - Hank Walker

What becomes of the broken-hearted?

At some point, it will probably feel absolutely normal when someone tell me "I am falling in love with you" or "You broke my heart!".

And I wouldn't even blink.

However, at this moment, I am not that jaded yet - and so when I got a text message from this guy with the latter content, I was shaken for a few seconds. The first reaction was to sit down and take a deep breath. In some way, it felt very similar to being pointed out, mistakenly, as a thieve in a public place - or at least, that's what I usually imagine it to feel like, not that I've ever been in that situation.

Anyway, this friend of mine - whom I like dearly, even now - and I have been hanging out for a month or so. We liked each other very much, and loved spending time together doing more than just physical activities. The reason for it being relatively casual was that he would move away very soon for work - and obviously I've got my own career to pursue as well, so there's no reason to go too deep into anything that we couldn't commit ourselves too. That made sense - well, at least until he allegedly developed unexpected affections for me and expected me to feel the same way - and ultimately sent the accusatory SMS above.

After recovered from the unexpected accusation, I was confused, and then very upset. I felt like people, in this and a few other similar incidences, had victimized themselves and then tried to put me to blame. It was ME who behave like myself, ME who made them fall in love, and ME who broke their heart. All of this, I had almost no control - but when it came to blaming someone, I was the one, despite having been straightforward and honest, who misled them to misery.

In the end, after all that anger, I just felt sad for failing to make someone happy.

And that's the biggest disappointment of all.


Credit: Broken Heart - by Deak04

Before the storm hits....

In between days of climatic cruelty, I woke up to a morning of beautiful sunshine and a clear blue sky. The tensely dry cold air somehow managed to wind down, settling the sand from construction sites on the ground, next to a few dunes of not-yet-melted snow.

I didn’t know if it was because of the calm weather or the breathing techniques I picked up from my conference a few weeks ago but somehow my emotions have managed to settle as well. It's like I have made peace with them – even though I knew they were still lingering around deep in my heart. Yet, just like the storm that would come soon– I knew those feelings would eventually rise up to disturbances…

But for this moment, it was easy to just let go and enjoy the sunshine.

Photo credit: Calm Before the Storm (2007) by Steen Doessing

Inspiration...

The persistent cold weather in DC has managed to slow down any activities to an idyllic state and, in the same process, freeze personalities to some sort of dull resemblances.

In that sluggish post-holidays pace, it was ironic that my first week back at work ended up being incredibly hectic. Four out of of 5 people of my team were out on holidays or mission while we were having an event coming up pretty soon -which left me with all the last minute preparation. On the bright side, that gave me the chance to work as a de facto team leader, and it left me quite a lot of new perspectives.

Yet, as much as work could distract me from the unreal cold winds outside, after 8 hours of labor, the reality quickly took over. I didn't know if it was really the weather, or DC itself, but somehow I just couldn't find any inspiration from the immediate physical and social surroundings. Everywhere I went I saw the same infrastructures, the same people doing the very similar thing - I ached for some fun picture, some interesting work, some inspirational story , but no one could quite intrigue me like Brent did two years ago. I couldn't help but wonder, was it his experiences or his passion that gave him such a captivating personality? And as I continued to dread the dullness of DC, I wondered when and from whom I would find the next inspiration.

With that in mind, I lugged myself to meet a friend from school for dinner and drink one Friday night. Our conversation was rather banal, and I would admit it was more of my boredom that took over, so when we moved to drinks and a bit dancing I began to watch the time more closely. Waiting for the alcohol to wear off before I could drive home, I saw a beautiful man on the dance floor - well, it was hard not to notice him, given how my friends were all looking at him. Tall, blond, beautifully slim fit, with a provocative perky butt slightly revealed through the low-rise jeans. Suddenly the gorgeous creature, Matt - if I recalled correctly, turned and gave me a smile that could warm up any heart, even one of a cold bitchy one. Before I knew it, we were dancing and talking together. It wasn't long before he told me what he did for a living - he was a male stripper.

That was a first! I thought so as we continued to enjoy each other's company. He surely had some moves that my lawyers and military friends could never imitate. He surely had a beautiful body that some would dream to have one day. Most of all, he surely had a profession that not everyone would even consider - especially in DC. Yet, he managed to intrigue me even more when he leaned over and whispered in my ears "There's nothing I want more than to kiss you right now - but we just met, and I am a stripper but not a slut, so let's meet and go out later."

In a city where men put on a straight high moral face at work to mask their devilish sluttiness inside, a city where men consider homewrecking a leisure, a city where dating is almost as hard as the Viagra-produced constant boner, it was so refreshing to meet a man who, despite a profession that people frown upon, managed, or was aspired, to stay so decent.

He might not call, or might not even remember our conversation - but his words were everything that I needed. It was more than a breathe of fresh air that brought back the inspiration to carry on life, in hope of meeting a great, decent, and interesting man.

Credit: Winter in Delft - Arkadius Zkotlewski

1, 2, 3, ...

It has been a long time since I last spent my new year's eve in the US - after Amsterdam, Singapore, and Bangkok the past 3 years - and being "home" after all provided a good occasion to reflect at this annual hallmark on what has been achieved and what to look forward to. Obviously I have done the year-end summary bit before Christmas, so it was natural that when the count-down finished, no more champagne, and the fireworks [were] through, all I thought of was what I would try to achieve in this new year.

Yet, as I was going down the 1, 2, 3 of 2010 goals, I was struck by a same pattern I had done things in 2009, 2008, and before that. At some level, it seemed that I had been creating some sort of list for everything I do: "Top 20 universities for graduate school," "Top 10 employers with GLBT-friendly policies," "Top 5 travel destinations," and then, "Top 100 qualities that I look for in a boyfriend." All along these lists have been manipulating my choice of action, crossing out prospects that do not make it to the top - including men who, in one way or another, fail to possess ALL those 100 qualities. (OK, so it's not really 100 - but a lot!). As I looked at a hot guy right next to me at the party, I was wondering if I were dating him, how long it would have taken me to find out his flaws and send him away. Just like my discussion on having plan B, in this case, it seemed that having a list is just as bad as not having one. For the clear orientation that a list provided, it could also too quickly reject prospects who might just be 1 or 2 errors shy from perfection.

Not compromising or settling for less than these lists has stuck with me for years - and as a new year rolled in, I just wish there would be someone special enough to make me feel like I were not compromising at all. Is that too much to ask?

Happy 2010 to everyone!


Credit: Hermes at lesailes.hermes.com