I live in Los Angeles.

In the heart of Los Angeles, apparently I live in the "ghetto."

"you know you are in the ghetto when you see old furniture in the alleyways, on the streets..."

All I do is see old furniture. I rather enjoy it. I get really excited hoping that this mangled piece of wood might be my next book case.  I found my nightstand next to a trash can, repainted it with $3 paint I found at Lowe's, modgepodged my 35mm photos on top and viola!:

I live in Los Angeles.

Sometimes this is hard for me to believe. I mean c'mon - in my little mind how could I have imagined this? In the minds of refugees. In the mind of a daughter of refugee parents. I don't really know what happened from August 21st to now. In the midst of it all I found a job, moved to a new city, and am now exploring. Los Angeles is a strange place. Who would of thunk that I would end up here. That my spirit would be here. That I were to breakdown at one point. That I was to teach parents about health in 4 different languages. Who would of thunk it huh? 

I suppose when I put it out to the universe that I wanted to fall in love, it decided to put me in this city. 

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I feel torn sometimes. Part of me wants to go see the world again. It's addicting you know? That whole traveling thing. That whole work for free and only for your passions type of thing. You know the you only live once type of thing. That thing. 

I could say I'm a bit freaked out because I feel like I need to make decisions that will impact my life in the future. I am freaking out about the future and as I am typing this - I'm realizing how stupid I sound. At the same time, everyone else seems to worry about this kind of stuff which makes me worry about it.