Tag: real life

July 20, 2019

Clean Eyes

A couple of months ago, there was this ten year challenge going around on various social media, mostly Instagram and Facebook.  I remember looking through photos (and yes, I did post one just for fun) and thinking to myself that I literally look the exact same.  My hair was more or less the same length, color, and I was more or less happy to the same extent, at least upon first glance at the image.  But if you dug beneath the surface, Marie of 2009 and Marie of 2019 are very different.
March 17, 2019

What I Packed To Move Home

Ah, packing.  It’s always so much more fun in your imagination to pack than it is to actually do so.  If you’re like me, you have a hard time packing just once.  I’m pretty sure before I left for America, I packed at least four times.  I spent hours making sure everything fit, contemplating if I really needed two gray t-shirts, weighing the suitcases again, and then I’d finish it off by staring at my luggage hoping osmosis would occur and I’d feel fine with my packing job.  And it’s harder to pack things for a trip knowing you aren’t just traveling, you’re moving.  You aren’t sure when you’ll be back so everything has to make the trip across the Pacific with you.  (We all know shipping is expensive, nobody got money for that.)
February 24, 2019

Taking on Taiwan: Ch-Ch-Changes

Recently, I explored some old posts of mine, just to see if I think the same way I did back then about things.  It was rather interesting, reading it and remembering exactly how I felt.  At the same time, however, I have to admit, I have trouble associating with who I was back then.  Just remembering the things I used to see daily in university and back home compared to the things that I am used to now makes me realize how truthfully different my life has become.  If you want a glimpse of it, check out this post.  Contrasting them is trippy.
December 23, 2018

What Happens After Your Last Game

I remember the first time I stepped foot on the ice in hockey skates.  At nine years old, I had donned figure skates for six years leading up to that, but nothing could prepare me for the dozens of bruises and bumps I had all over my body as I got used to life without toe picks.  But yet, despite every fall and a few stifled laughs from my teammates that summer, I kept on trying.  Thirteen years later, I would step on the ice for the last time, wearing my collegiate uniform and equipment way larger than the first set of pads I wore way back when.