Studies have shown you are

Studies have shown you are more prone to impulse buying on weekends. So I was worried when a friend gave me tickets to this expensive car show. Hahahaha!

Sunday afternoons are somehow boring. You’re sad the weekend is coming to and end and the work week is approaching once again. I decided to ignore the study and went to the car show, where I realized pretending I can afford an ultra-expensive car is funnier than actually being able to afford it!

Note: Having your picture taken by an expensive car is the ultimate proof you can NOT afford it!

Relationships are tough and not many couples get to live a fairly happy one. Much less those love stories from fairy tales. Is it easier if you are good-looking? Absolutely not. And here’s how I back up my theory.

I was riding the subway when I was struck by this couple. I don’t mean to be insulting, but they were the ugliest boy and girl and I have ever seen in my entire life. They reminded me of a bad version of Fiona and Shrek. And I am afraid I am insulting Fiona and Shrek by saying that.

They wore thick glasses and no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t have gotten worse looking frames. The clothes? No comments.

All right. Let’s get back to my theory. What really struck me was how much affection and care and love they showed for each other. It was clear in all the small and big gestures. They were in their own world. They were f**** HAPPY!

I just imagine her saying to her little daughter, as ugly as her: “I hope you find someone to make you happy as I did find your dad.” And dad saying to his little ugly son: “I hope you find someone to make you happy as I did find your mama.”

Like money beauty is not a guarantee of happiness. Would I rather be as ugly as her but as happy as her? Not sure since I’m pretty happy with my spouse. But definitely not as happy as her. Not even close.

Being an expat I am asked this question all the time. I am ethnically Asian but I was born and raised in Brazil and I have nothing in common with Japan, except for my looks, so it is always a little complicated of a chat. Then the next question is normally how did I end up here.

Since I’m a Brazilian of Japanese descent and I’m often speaking Spanish or Portuguese I think I become the target of such question more often. One time I was on the phone talking with my Kentucky-born husband. I normally mix English and Portuguese so he can practice a second language. When I hang up a Brazilian man looked at me and exclaimed: “Oooo-hhhh, m—-y—- G—–o—–d! I would say you were from anywhere but Brazil!” The Latinos reacts the same way.

In the beginning, it was an interesting question and I was happy to answer and explain. However I have to confess that lately I got tired of this question. For the most part of my stay in the United States I lived in two places where many people is from somewhere else, New York and Miami, so I feel this question has become common-place.

Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s interesting hearing stories about people and places and the reasons (or lack of reason) one ends up somewhere. I’m just tired of re-telling my little journey over and over again.

However, think twice before saying how ugly or how pretty I am. I look Asian but I’m not a tourist or a foreign student. I am a Miami resident and I speak Portuguese and Spanish. Maybe you should ask me where I am from.

My husband and I recently moved to a cool apartment.

Decorating it has been a challenge.

The ideas from our gay friends are quite unattainable. But one girlfriend suggested us to use plants since they are cheap and can give any room a special touch. We liked the idea and bought a few of them. They look great but we soon realized they also need love and care. Which we have in bunches to give away but we are afraid our plants don’t want them.

My husband them reminded me of a funny story from our dating days. I had bought him a Bonsai tree for Valentine’s Day including this cheesy and tacky note: “I hope our love last as long as this Bonsai tree.” I should have written “longer than”. He placed it on top of the heater in his apartment in Manhattan and the next time I saw it, a few days later, the poor tree was dry and crispy and as dead as a corpse.

My husband accuses me of having a dark thumb but I suspect our plants don’t need love and care but just some water.

Anyway, I decided to buy artificial plants.

They can look very real. The one in the balcony looks great and my next door neighbor asks what my secret is. I smile and say: “Love and care.” That normally cuts the conversation short.

Some of my friends think they are real and when they try to touch them, I jump between them and my plant as a mommy bear protecting his offsprings and say: “DO NOT touch them, please!” They back up in awe and give me that surprised look. I smile uncomfortably and start to make up some theories as to why plants die if someone other than the owner touches them.

I hope they never read this post.

The other night I had to take a bus from downtown Miami to where I live in Surfside. Since I never know where I am or which way my home is I asked this friendly looking young guy for information. He gently explained me exactly which bus to take and we started talking. I was happy to speak English for a change. Nothing against Spanish. I love español! But I also don’t want to forget my hard learned English. It turns out the boy was from Slovenia. He said it kinda shyly, expecting me to say something like “what?”, “where?”. But I do know where Slovenia is and he was so happy! I mean, all I knew it’s a tiny country in Eastern Europe. And I was so happy he was happy that back home I did some research on Slovenia: it’s locked between Austria, Hungary, Croatia, Italy and the Adriatic Sea. Not a bad location! It was part of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Austrian Empire and Yugoslavia, among others, until finally it became independent in 1991. Okay, enough! The boy was so happy to be in America! He asked me if I had been to LA and when I said “yes” he looked at me like I was the luckiest person on Earth! Then he asked me how long I lived here. I said about ten but that I missed my home country. He was even more excited to hear that (the ten years part). I asked him if he missed Slovenia too. He said he planned to set foot in the US. I warned him home is the best place in the world to be, no matter where it is or how it is. I told him the grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. I advised him to experience life here, get a degree and go back home. He didn’t respond and his bus arrived. He seemed sad to go so I smiled and said (and meant): Good luck! I hope he listened because for myself it seems too late to go back home.

Here where he’ll be happy (it’s the tiny green drop on the map):

I am not a big fan of driving so I ask my chauffeur (aka husband) to take me to places. But on Tuesday the car broke down so he couldn’t pick me up from my blogging class in downtown Miami and I had to take a bus! Gosh! Take a bus! Mission almost impossible for me. Not driving too often also took away some of my sense of direction.

So my odyssey to get back home to Surfside starts. For those who are not familiar, it’s a small town of 5 blocks between Miami Beach and Bal Harbor, a quick 25 minutes drive.

I start by waiting at the wrong bus stop for about 20 minutes until I’m told I have to walk to Biscayne if I want to travel north.

Parenthesis: I have heels because I forgot I had to take the bus and it’s raining! Damn! I never owned an umbrella and never will. It makes me feel like an old lady.

After asking two security guards for directions I finally make my way to Biscayne. But wait! Where’s north? Who cares? I spot a bus stop and walk towards it.

I wait another 40 minutes and a bus heading north (I hope) pulls over and I get in. Jesus! It’s freezing. What’s wrong with this country? When I lived in Manhattan I’d freeze in summer (because of the AC’s) and cook in winter (because of the heating). Luckily enough in Miami I’m fine half of the time.

Fast forward: After one thousand nine hundred seventy-eight stops I get home, two hours from the time I left class. But I’m not mad. I’m a very zen person who takes advantage of every situation. I had enough time to write this post and many others. My blogging teacher will be so proud of me!

*Re-reading this post I wonder why I didn’t call an Uber. Oh, it was before Uber. Why didn’t I get a regular cab? I think I couldn’t find one.

Who Am I?

Someone you may hear about someday in some way or fashion. Or someone you will never hear about at all.

Both are fine with me because I am having fun posting my little stories during my stay in this fascinating planet.