Grey Skies | Silver Linings

I've been meaning to write about (finally!) seeing one of my favorite bands in concert. But, as is the case with several other posts in this space, I tend not to talk about one thing specifically. So I decided in the end that I would use the experience as a framing device for some other things I wish to touch on. Hopefully this exercise produces a seamless output. Credits t o this brilliant article in Commonweal Magazine for the style I attempted to emulate. I. It was fifteen minutes or so past eight o'clock when the lights in the hall dimmed one Friday evening in downtown San Francisco, as four beautiful ladies walked onstage to begin their performance. This night was eight long years in the making, years filled with admiration for their body of work coupled by a wishful thinking that, some day soon, my own eyes will witness their talents showcased live. Never could I have guessed that this moment will arrive two years into my new living

dis·con·nect \ ˌdis-k ə -ˈnekt \ transitive verb 1 : to sever the connection of or between 2 : dissociate · "are disconnected from meaningful relationships" intransitive verb 1 : to terminate a connection 2 : to become detached or withdrawn · " disconnects into dark moods" Around the same time last year, I deactivated all my social media accounts for a whole month. To most, this idea may seem silly (downright stupid, even) given the fact that practically everything happening around one's own universe now involves some form of social media. Whose birthday is it today? Facebook will help you remember. What's going on with the world lately? Twitter has the breaking news covered. What are your friends up to? Look no further than their Instagram stories and Snaps. There is no reason, really, for you to be ignorant or indifferent in this "golden age" of information and technology. That being said, I still willingly chose

Completing an old draft.   (April 7, 2017) Walking and eating by one's self allow a person to reflect deeply about... well, a lot of things.  Case in point: I found myself one afternoon, in the midst of my routine hike around town, entering a Burmese diner three miles from where we live in Daly City. I could use a little rest, I thought; besides, I hadn't eaten lunch yet. The dim interior was also a welcome break from the outdoors, which was particularly hot and sunny that day. I went inside and sat near the back, facing away from the rest of the customers who were already enjoying their meals. I didn't mind that I came in alone, nor did I find awkward that I occupied a table for four people while a family of five and a young couple on a date were seated closely by. All I kept thinking about was one thing: I am going to try something new today. I ordered  mohinga -- catfish soup with vermicelli noodles (misua) topped with slices of boiled egg, cori